Nest of the Phoenix
by Cinaed Born Of Fire
Summary: Before his fifth year in the aftermath of Cedric's death, Harry finds himself thrown into an alternate universe where things have been drastically altered and Tom Riddle is Hermione and Ron's best friend. *Slash*
1. Chapter One

(Author's Notes: This is the first chapter of Nest of the Phoenix. I know I should be working on my other stories, but this story idea has been stuck in my head for months, and I finally decided to write it down.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter One  
  
The teenager known by all of the wizarding world as the Boy Who Lived, by Hogwarts as Harry Potter, by his enemies as Potter, and by his close friends as simply Harry, gazed out of his window. He was barely aware of Hedwig shifting in her cage, the owl's feathers rustling as she moved. He watched the scenery that lay stretched out before him, a barren, worthless Muggle area compared to the scenery he would've seen if he had been gazing out of the window of his dormitory at Hogwarts.  
  
His untamable locks were as wild as ever; even as Harry glanced over at Hedwig, a stray lock of black fell in front of his deep green eyes, obscuring his vision. The thin, pale boy bit back a sigh, knowing why the owl kept fidgeting. Yet again, the Dursleys had locked Hedwig in her cage, paranoid that one of their neighbors might see such an 'odd' creature flying from one of /their/ windows. Perish the thought!  
  
"Sorry," was the simple, apologetic word that Harry offered his companion. Hedwig gave out a sound that could almost be considered a sigh before shuffling a final time and then falling still. Intense emerald watched the snowy owl for a few seconds before the teenager turned his attention back towards the window, the expression on his fatigued countenance melancholy.  
  
It was July 4th. Off in America, Muggle and wizard alike were celebrating their freedom, while Harry Potter, one of the most famous wizards of all time, was trapped in a house that was supposed to be his refuge.  
  
A sigh escaped the young wizard's lips as he contemplated his life at the Dursleys'. While it was true that Dudley was terrified of him and refused to come anywhere near him despite the fact that he wasn't supposed to use his magic (Harry could only presume it was because he had used it to blow up his aunt the summer before his third year), Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had grown, if possible, worse due to their newfound cockiness. Dumbledore had sent a letter to the two, explaining the situation at hand (i.e., Voldemort was back and after Harry). His aunt and uncle had decided based on the letter that Harry /needed/ them, and he had found himself back to being their tangible slave once more.  
  
Add that fact onto the detail that he had nightly dreams about Cedric Diggory and hadn't had a full night's rest since before the final test of the Triwizard Tournament, and it was relatively easy to see why Harry had become even more sunken and drained than he had been when Hagrid had kicked in that door on his eleventh birthday and changed his life forever.  
  
The only thing that really kept the young wizard going were the weekly letters from Ron in the Burrow and occasional letter from Hermione, who was busy traipsing in China with her parents for the summer, learning of the ancient Chinese wizards. Although Harry lied with every fake-cheerful line he penned back to his two best friends, it did the black-haired Potter good to know his friends were safe, for the moment, from Voldemort.  
  
You-Know-Who had not been heard from since that fateful night, and Harry could only guess that he was gathering his forces, waiting for the right time to strike, waiting for the moment when Harry and Dumbledore and the wizarding world least expected it..  
  
The thought made Harry shudder once, and run a trembling hand through his messy mane in an unconscious gesture that usually calmed him. He just had to get through this summer, this hell of a summer, and then he'd be back at Hogwarts, where he'd be safe under Dumbledore's watch.  
  
A sudden, shrill squawk from Hedwig earned a quizzical look from her feeder. The owl seemed to be going berserk, flapping wildly and slamming herself against the unyielding bars in a fruitless attempt to get out of the coop.  
  
"Hedwig, stop that!" Alarm was obvious in the teenager's voice, for the cage was wildly swinging with the owl's spasms, and he had no doubt that she was hurting herself. "Stop it!" Hedwig didn't heed him, and let out another piercing screech, a shriek that made Harry's ears ring.  
  
"Boy!" Now another voice rose over the owl's continuous screeching; Uncle Vernon's, loud and thunderous. "Quiet that beast of yours before I come up there!"  
  
"Yes, Uncle Vernon!" Harry hollered back, his hands reaching for the cage. In the next instant, the teenager hissed in a mixture of pain and surprise, cradling his left hand where Hedwig had nipped him. Blood seeped between his fingers as Harry stared at the still shrieking owl in disbelief. She had never nipped him that hard before. Scurrying over to his desk as he heard Vernon begin to mount the stairs, Harry yanked out his wand, at a loss of what to do. He had never seen Hedwig this way; something had to be seriously wrong.  
  
With trembling fingers, Harry pointed his wand towards his beloved pet, and yelled, "Hedwig, calm down or I'll stun you!" The owl continued to screech, slamming again and again against the bars of her cage, oblivious to the white feathers that whirled around her pen like leaves being swept around by the wind. Frantically racking his brain for the proper words of the Stunning Spell (he had remembered it when he had used it during the Triwizard Tournament-why couldn't he remember it now?), the teenager heard Vernon storm down the hall towards his room-  
  
And then suddenly Harry's vision blurred and the ground lurched beneath his feet. The teenager stumbled, a startled oath escaping his lips as he quickly regained his footing. Blinking rapidly and waiting for his vision to clear, the wizard was relieved to note that Hedwig had stopped screeching. What he didn't expect to happen next was for something to strike him hard across the face.  
  
The teenager fell without a word, stunned into silence as he landed on his face, on dry, dusky ground, a rock jutting into his lower back painfully. After a staggered moment, he regained his senses, and sat up; warm liquid from a gash across his temple slid down and dripped onto his cheek at the action. What had struck him?  
  
"E-Excuse me?" This time, the unexpected second blow wasn't enough of a surprise to keep Harry from crying out even as he found himself sprawled on his back once more, the newest gash on his left cheek trickling blood towards his ear. Staying down and reaching up with shaking hands to rub at his eyes, attempting to gain better vision, it was only then he realized why his vision was so poor.  
  
He had lost his glasses.  
  
Cursing miserably under his breath, the teenager called out, his tone tentative, "Who's there, and what the bloody hell did I do to earn being struck like that, and twice no less?" He jumped and sat upright automatically when a slightly amused voice answered him.  
  
"Well, I'm here, but I didn't hit you. And the reason you just got your arse kicked was because you ventured too close to the Whomping Willow, my foolish friend." The voice sounded very familiar, but Harry couldn't place the cheerful tone.  
  
Harry was hauled upright and then immediately dragged a few feet away from the aforementioned Whomping Willow, even as he protested, "Since when has the Whomping Willow been outside my window?"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't know that, seeing as I didn't think anyone would live be stupid enough to near the Whomping Willow," the cheerful voice replied as a warm, soothing hand patted him on the shoulder. "Listen, you're a sight. How about I take you up to the infirmary, and get those gashes taken care of?"  
  
"My glasses. I can't go until I've found my glasses." Harry's voice sounded numb to his own ears; the wizard was trying to unscramble his brain to figure out how he could have gotten from his bedroom to Hogwarts without any type of spell being used. He squinted at the fuzzy blob that had to be the person who had dragged him away from the Whomping Willow, but couldn't even make out a hair color.  
  
"Well, here they are, mate. A bit banged up, but I'm guessing from the tape that they're not in any worse condition then they had been." The familiar object that was his glasses was pressed into his right hand, but before Harry could put them on, the voice exclaimed, "What happened to your hand?"  
  
"My hand?" Compared to the gashes on his face, his bleeding hand was nothing and had been forgotten. "Oh, Hedwig—my owl—nipped me. I don't know what got into her. She just went berserk."  
  
"That's interesting; my brother's owl just went nuts too and flew out here to the Whomping Willow. That's the only reason I was here to save you from being properly smashed by the Willow. Of course, by now the stupid bugger has flown off to another place, but I think I'll be forgiven if I don't find the nitwit."  
  
Harry couldn't help but smile at the cheerful declarations even as he frantically racked his brains in a vain attempt to figure out what had happened. Had someone used a spell while Hedwig had been screeching at him? But that still didn't explain how he could end up near the Whomping Willow.. After all, Dumbledore had said himself that no one could Apparate onto the grounds. He was so busy musing of these odd events that he didn't put on his glasses as his 'rescuer' dragged in the direction of Hogwarts and the infirmary.  
  
"So, what're you doing here exactly, kid? I mean, if you're here for school, you're a couple weeks later. Hogwarts has been in session for three weeks...."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Harry challenged, probably looking as bewildered as he felt. "We're not even halfway through summer yet! It's July 4th."  
  
"Well, I checked my calendar, kid, and it told me today is /not/ July 4th. What house are you in?"  
  
"Gryffindor," said the wizard, wondering why the man (for he had finally figured out that the voice belonged to a man) didn't recognize him for being the Boy Who Lived. "And I'm telling you, today's the Fourth."  
  
"Gryffindor? Well, that's funny." The man's voice had turned thoughtful. "I thought I knew every Gryffindor.... What year?"  
  
"I'm going into my fifth year," Harry said, sticking stubbornly to the idea that it was still July 4th. To his surprise, the man laughed outright.  
  
"You can't be. For one, I'm sure I would have met you, since that's my brother's year; for another, you're too small. You must be a third or fourth year."  
  
"I am not! I'm a fifth year! Just ask your brother, whoever he is, and he'll tell you who I am."  
  
"Sure, I'll ask-" The man was cut off as a concerned voice slashed into their conversation.  
  
"What have you dragged in this time?"  
  
"Some boy I found being walloped by the Whomping Willow. He claims to be a fifth year, but I've never seen him before. Want to take care of his scratches? Oh, and his owl apparently nipped him, so you might want to take care of his hand too."  
  
Harry moved to put on his glasses so he could see the duo, his features betraying his indignation. "Why do I get the feeling you don't believe a word I say?"  
  
"Hmm, probably because I don't, good chap."  
  
"Don't put your glasses on just yet, child," the womanly voice ordered, snatching the reassuring object from his hands. "Let me heal your gashes first. Now, I'm just going to put some gel on the cuts, and they'll sting for a few brief moments."  
  
By now, Harry had recognized the voice as Madam Pomfrey, but since the woman didn't seem to notice it was him, he kept quiet. Had he really changed that much in the first few weeks of summer? He knew he had become much thinner and had lost most of the color in his cheeks, but he hadn't thought that would make him undistinguishable to his former friends and elders at Hogwarts. So he remained silent as Madam Pomfrey tsked over his cuts before slathering the ice-cold cream on them. The gashes closed up immediately, and then a warm, damp towel was washing the dried blood from his visage and his hand as Madam Pomfrey announced, her tone reproachful, "There, although from the looks of it, you haven't been eating properly. Or sleeping enough, I wager."  
  
"Yeah, I'll work on that," Harry muttered, not meaning it. After all, how could he stop the nightmares or eat when it made him nauseous, thinking of how Cedric would never get to enjoy the pleasure that was taste. He stretched out his now completely healed left hand for his glasses. Clutching at the cool, black texture for reassurance before moving to slip it on, the young wizard said, louder than his agreement to her comment about his lack of health, "Thank you." He blinked as he set the glasses on his nose, tilting his head a little in bewilderment before realizing that his glasses had been busted enough by his fall that they were now a little askew. As he fumbled with them and attempted to fix the broken frames, he knew that Madam Pomfrey and the person who had dragged him to the infirmary were watching him.  
  
"Need any help?" The man's voice was amused, and Harry smiled faintly even as his slender fingers fumbled with the glasses once more.  
  
"No, I've got it, thank you," he said politely, and then added after a brief pause, "Unless you have some tape?"  
  
The man laughed. "Here, let me help you." From behind Harry, a work- roughened hand snaked around to snatch the glasses from the dark-haired teen. Squinting into the blurriness that was the infirmary once more, the teenager waited as the man mumbled something softly under his breath. Then the hand snaked around once more to press the glasses once more into his hand. When Harry put on his glasses this time, he blinked in astonishment. Not only were his glasses fixed, but the spell had even cleaned his dirty lenses for him.  
  
"Thanks!" he said with a smile that was nearing a grin on his face as he began to turn towards the cheerful man. Dark green met equally dark blue, and Harry felt like he had been punched in the stomach. His eyes wide with disbelief, an incredulous whisper escaped his lips. "Charlie?"  
  
The wind-beaten, heavily freckled Weasley who was Charlie and yet not him at all simply raised an eyebrow in return, smiling a genuine, if a tad puzzled, smile.  
  
(To be continued) 


	2. Chapter Two

(Author's Thanks: TheShadowWithin, RaistlinofMetallica, Fanny for their reviews. *grins* No need to sell yourself to Voldemort just yet, Fanny.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you, and enjoy Chapter Two of Next of the Phoenix!  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Two  
  
"Charlie?" Harry whispered again, the soft word unbelieving. The ruddy man who stood before him could be no other, with the trademark Weasley mop of flaming red and the short, stocky build that kept him apart from the tall, lanky Percy and Ron. And yet, Harry knew this was somehow not /his/ Charlie, the Charlie Weasley he knew, because this man wore a puzzled smile and had a blank look in his eyes.  
  
"Do I know you?" was asked in a tone of politeness, even as the blank look in his dark blue eyes shifted to one of slight unease.  
  
"Charlie, how can you not recognize me?" Harry demanded, his voice higher than normal from a panic that was beginning to grasp at his belly and twist his stomach into artful designs. "It's me, Harry!"  
  
"I'm afraid I don't know anyone named Harry."  
  
The stunned teenager turned his gaze upon Madam Pomfrey, and he said, in a tone of desperation, "You recognize me, don't you Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
"I'm afraid not, child," Madam Pomfrey informed him, her visage betraying her own unease. It was only then that Harry began to wonder when on earth the woman had ever called him, in his entire four years at the school, child. The Madam Pomfrey he knew had never called anyone by an endearing moniker.  
  
Harry's bewildered gaze flew between Madam Pomfrey and Charlie, and the panic in his stomach increased until he wanted to double over and clutch his abdomen in a vain attempt to get the alarm out of his system. Maybe then he'd be able to think clearly and realize this was all a horrible dream.  
  
"You—you can feel pain while you sleep, right?" The weak, frightened voice could hardly be recognized by Harry as his own.  
  
"No, you can't."  
  
"But—but I /have/ to be dreaming, because you all should know me! Everyone should know me!" The teenager's words were a desperate plea, and both of the listeners looked sympathetic if a smidgen mistrustful of this distraught boy.  
  
"Hey, Charlie, did you find Pig?" An achingly familiar voice filled the silence after Harry's frantic claim, and the trio startled a little in their stances before turning their heads towards the entrance of the infirmary where yet another Weasley stood.  
  
Harry swallowed hard as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. For a moment he simply closed his eyes, trying to pretend that this was all a dream and that soon he'd wake up on his bed, wondering what he had eaten that had caused such an odd nightmare. When the moment passed, he opened his eyes and gazed at the lanky figure in the doorway. Swallowing hard once more, the teenager spoke, his voice hoarse from suppressed emotion. "Ron. Ron, you remember me, don't you?"  
  
The freckled boy's quizzical look and shrug of his shoulders answered the young wizard's question, and with a low, despairing groan, Harry crumpled onto the nearest cot, burying his ashen face in his sweating hands.  
  
"This isn't happening," he mumbled, feeling quivers move up and down his skinny frame, racking his body in convulsive shudders. "This can't be happening. This has to be a dream. A horrible nightmare. Someone, please wake me up...."  
  
"We'd try to wake you up if we didn't know you were awake, child."  
  
Harry looked up, and fixed Madam Pomfrey with an incredulous stare. "And how was /that/ statement helpful to me at all?" he demanded before burying his face in his hands once more. "Bloody hell, this may not /look/ like Kansas, but now I know it certainly isn't. Maybe I'm over the rainbow?" He was aware that he was babbling and probably not making any sense, but somehow he couldn't help himself.  
  
"If you're Dorothy, then where's Toto?" A voice came from the doorway, and Harry didn't have to glance up to recognize his other best friend. Of course, had he glanced up, he would have noticed that Ron was nowhere to be found.  
  
"I think I'll call my trusty wand Toto, thank you Hermione," he began, lifting his head long enough to fumble in his robes for the aforementioned magical object. After a moment of fruitless searching, the panic in his frame increased until he was shaking so hard he couldn't see and could barely speak. "W-where's m-m-my wand?"  
  
"I have it." Charlie's words caused Harry to look up, an expression of pure relief on his countenance.  
  
"It's not broken, is it?"  
  
"No," the older wizard assured him, even as he drew the wand from one of his pockets. "But I'm afraid I can't give it back to you until Dumbledore gives the okay. You're upset and bound to do something stupid, not to mention you could be a spy for You-Know-Who."  
  
Well, at least they remembered Voldemort. Harry opened his mouth to resist the foreign custody of his wand, but after a moment he sighed and declared, "Fine. When can I see Dumbledore?"  
  
"Right now, actually. It does pique one's interest in someone if a certain Weasley comes dashing up to one ranting about how there was some boy in the infirmary who knew everyone's name and was being 'mad.'" Dumbledore's voice was slightly cheerful, but Harry knew the man enough to detect the underlying seriousness in the headmaster's tone.  
  
The Boy-Who-Lived glanced over at the doorway where the familiar man stood. Ron was peeking over Dumbledore's shoulder and glancing curiously at Harry. "Where should we talk, Headmaster?"  
  
"In my office." Dumbledore cast a glance at the now four listeners, and added, "Privately."  
  
Madam Pomfrey, Charlie, Ron, and Hermione all wore identical looks of consternation that Harry would have laughed at had he not had such a sinking feeling in his stomach.  
  
"Lead the way, sir." Harry attempted to hide the dread that he was feeling inwardly. He had a suspicion that while Dumbledore would be able to provide him with some answers, the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't going to like them.  
  
"Here's his wand, Headmaster," Charlie said, stepping forward to fairly thrust the wand at the silver-haired wizard. Dumbledore accepted the magical rod with quiet thank-you, tucking it out of sight amidst the flowing robes.  
  
Harry ducked his head a little and clasped his hands together, his thin fingers almost white as his knuckles turned pale from the death-grip. He needed something to hold onto, and without his wand, he couldn't think of anything to cling to. He glanced up after a moment and saw that Dumbledore was motioning for him to exit the infirmary first. Ignoring the curious gazes of the other four, the teenager crept through the familiar doorway, feeling oddly drained though he hadn't exerted himself. When had been the last time he had eaten a whole meal?  
  
He could hear Dumbledore's slow, gradual footsteps follow him from the medical wing, and the black-haired boy turned towards the headmaster of Hogwarts, waiting for him to lead the way. Instead, the old wizard raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes keen.  
  
"I suspect you already know where my office is, young man?"  
  
Harry swallowed hard, wishing that the lightheadedness would simply overwhelm him and let him crumple into peaceful oblivion if only for a few minutes of tranquility. After a minute, however, he bobbed his head in concurrence to Dumbledore's words.  
  
"Then I'd prefer that you led the way."  
  
Without a word, Harry urged his numb appendages to stir beneath him and propel him in the direction of the headmaster's office. If his walk was a little bit of a lurch, it could be blamed on the loss of blood he had suffered from his 'fight' with the Whomping Willow.  
  
When he reached the spot where only someone who knew the password to the office could enter, he waited for Dumbledore to say the password, covering his ears automatically. If they thought he was a spy for Voldemort, listening to the headmaster's password wouldn't be a good idea. A moment later, he pulled his hands away as the entrance to Dumbledore's office opened wide. Without even glancing at Dumbledore, he stepped into the headmaster's office, a pang of anguish assaulting his stomach once more as he gazed around the familiar and yet alien workplace. Where were Fawkes and the knick-knacks that had made the office uniquely Dumbledore's? Where were all the smiling (or sleeping) portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts?  
  
"W-where's Fawkes?"  
  
"His business is his own. I don't ask him where he goes when he disappears," Dumbledore stated, settling into a comfortable leather chair that Harry didn't remember being in the office. "So, is there any particular reason you know all of us, and even know that I am acquainted with a phoenix?"  
  
Harry sank into one of the chairs, his expression shifting to a weary one. "So you don't recognize me either?"  
  
"I'm afraid not." Dumbledore's tone was slightly apologetic, and the Boy- Who-Lived sighed, rubbing his forehead and resisting the urge to groan.  
  
In the next instant Dumbledore had grabbed the hand he had been pressing against his forehead and smoothed the dark locks away from his forehead, an odd look on his visage. "What's that?" the headmaster demanded, gazing at Harry's scar.  
  
"My-my scar. The one Voldemort gave to me."  
  
"Voldemort?" Dumbledore repeated in bewilderment, still gazing intently at the scar. "Who's Voldemort?"  
  
"Come on, You-Know-Who. The man Charlie was accusing me of being aligned with." Harry's high tone revealed his annoyance and panic.  
  
"The Dark Lord's name is not Voldemort. His name's Ragimara."  
  
"Ragimara?" Despite the easy pronunciation, Harry's tongue stumbled on the foreign word. "Sir, Voldemort gave me this scar because /he's/ the Dark Lord who murdered my parents. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who everyone thought had destroyed Voldemort once and for all when I was only a babe." A dark note had unconsciously slipped in his tone during the final statement. If he had killed Voldemort as a babe, if his mother's protection had slain the Dark Lord, so many people would be alive. Mr. Crouch, Frank Bryce, Bertha Jorkins, and especially Cedric Diggory.  
  
"I'm afraid I don't know this Voldemort that you're speaking of. We only know Ragimara, the Dark Lord who's terrorized the world for the past twenty- so years." Dumbledore gazed at the scar for a long moment before he let the untidy locks settle back over the scar that marked Harry as the Boy- Who- Lived. "Tell me more about this Voldemort."  
  
"He's a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, and he was in the Slytherin House. He attempted to rule the world and kill all Muggles, and he was going to succeed too. Then he came to the house of the Potters-"  
  
Dumbledore made an odd sort of sound, but when Harry glanced at him, the headmaster simply raised a hand to urge him on.  
  
"That would happen to be the house I lived in, seeing as the Potters were my parents. I was around a year old at the time, and one of my father's friends had been our Secret Keeper but actually a spy for Voldemort." Harry paused, biting his lower lip. He had never had to explain what had happened that night before. After all, everyone knew him, so there had been no need to give details on how his parents had died. Nevertheless, he continued, and told Dumbledore the details of his parents' murders, Voldemort's downfall, of his servant Pettigrew, and then his resurrection of sorts after the third Task of the Triwizard Tournament.  
  
When he finished, he raised his eyes towards Dumbledore and realized he hadn't explained very well, but that didn't justify the odd, closed look on the headmaster's visage.  
  
"Cedric Diggory? Peter Pettigrew?" Dumbledore repeated slowly, the clandestine look never leaving his visage. When Harry nodded, the headmaster glanced off into space for a long moment before asking, in the same slow tone, "Is Voldemort the Dark Lord's real name?"  
  
"No. His name's Tom Riddle."  
  
Dumbledore's visage drained of all color, and his blue eyes blazed with a million foreign emotions that Harry could neither define nor understand. After a long moment of silence, he said quietly, "What's your name?"  
  
"Harry Potter."  
  
Those intense azure orbs blazed to the point that Harry had to glance away, cowering from the countless emotions in Dumbledore's eyes. He glanced away towards the bare walls, wondering why the headmaster didn't have the portraits of the former headmasters on the walls.  
  
At last, Dumbledore spoke, and his voice was very, very quiet. "Mr. Potter, we have a problem."  
  
(To be continued) 


	3. Chapter Three

(Author's Thanks: GayRon for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, I'm sorry, folks. I've tried not to be one of those whiny authors who demands reviews and acts like a bitch when she doesn't get one. It's just, well, I work hard on these stories, and when I get /one/ review for a chapter, it's just a bit disheartening. Now, I'm not trying to force anyone to, but if you really do like this story, could you try to fit somewhere in your busy schedules of life outside FF.N to review? Thanks.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Three  
  
"Roger. This is Houston, Dumbledore. What seems to be the problem?" Harry couldn't believe he'd just cracked a Muggle joke when things were suddenly very serious. Maybe he was delirious?  
  
Dumbledore looked stern. "This is not Muggle Studies. I would appreciate if we stick to the serious matter at hand." He paused. "You are Harry Potter and you say your Dark Lord is Tom Riddle?"  
  
"He's not /my/ Dark Lord, and his name is Tom Riddle."  
  
The headmaster was silent for a long moment before he asked, "What's your House?"  
  
"Gryffindor."  
  
Understanding filled those blue eyes then, and relief swiftly followed as he ordered, "Tell me everything you can about your version of the wizarding world, Mr. Potter."  
  
So Harry did. He told him about the wizarding world, about people like Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black. Occasionally, Dumbledore would interrupt him to ask questions about some of the details. He looked especially grave when Harry told him about Neville Longbottom's parents, but the headmaster didn't comment and instead asked more about his parents and their relationship to Tom Riddle.  
  
The interrogation lasted about an hour, and when Dumbledore at last fell silent, Harry's voice was slightly hoarse from revealing so much information to a man who should have already known all this.  
  
As the teenager's fingers absently rubbed at his throat, Dumbledore gazed upwards for a long moment, as if seeking answers from an unknown presence. At last, he turned those blue eyes upon Harry once more, and said softly, but in a tone that booked no argument, "Mr. Potter, I want you listen carefully, and to do exactly as I say." The headmaster waited until Harry nodded in acquiescence to continue. "It seems that somehow you were transported to an alternate reality. Not a parallel universe, but an alternate reality. There are many, many differences. First off, you do not- " There was a barely discernable pause in the headmaster's words before he kept going. "-exist in this universe. Tom Riddle is the nephew of Lily Potter and therefore James Potter by marriage. Petunia, Vernon, Dudley, Iris (Tom's mother), and Lily were murdered by Ragimara when Tom was three. Tom Riddle is a Gryffindor fifth-year and is the best friend of Ron and Hermione." He paused, trying to gauge the black-haired boy's reaction.  
  
As soon as Dumbledore fell silent, Harry was lost to his own thoughts, which engulfed him. He didn't exist, and if he had, he would have been cousins with Tom Riddle.... Not to mention that nearly everyone in his family had died by Ragimara's hand. Then he realized something.  
  
"What happened to my father—James, I mean?"  
  
"He's still alive." For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Dumbledore actually smiled. His tone held just a hint of mischief when he kept going. "And he's actually in a relationship now—with Lucius Malfoy."  
  
Harry literally fell out of his chair, his expression one of shock as he gazed at Dumbledore from his position on the floor. "What?!"  
  
Dumbledore's expression remained amused as he repeated, "James has been living with Lucius Malfoy for eleven years. His son, Draco, is in Tom's year and is in Slytherin."  
  
"And how did Narcissa enjoy the news?" inquired Harry dryly as he scrambled to his feet and sat back down in the chair.  
  
The headmaster sobered. "When Lucius fell in love with James, he deserted the Dark Lord, and in retaliation Ragimara killed his wife. He was going to kill young Draco too, but I intervened."  
  
"Oh." Harry attempted to process that information, but his head hurt. This was way too much to take in. "Anything else I should know?"  
  
"Most of us are nothing like your universe has them, Mr. Potter. You'll find the personalities of Lucius, Draco, and even Severus quite different than you remembered them. Severus is a spy for us, but no one has discovered him yet. He's always been a spy." Dumbledore looked serious. "Now, you must follow my directions exactly. You are /not/ to tell anyone about the changes in your universe. In fact, you are not to tell anyone you /came/ from. We shall tell the two Weasley brothers, Ms. Granger, and Madam Pomfrey albeit with your new name, but they will be the only ones to know, and even then they will know only what I tell them. It would not do James any good to know /he/ was brutally murdered in an alternate universe as well as Lily."  
  
Harry nodded, not sure what else to say. Dumbledore seemed to have everything under control.  
  
"Also, you will not give out your last name. You will be called Harry-" The headmaster of Hogwarts paused for a moment, his brow wrinkling for a moment. "-Harry Mason." There was definitely a mischievous glint in his eyes at that point, although it took Harry a moment to get the joke. While a 'potter' worked with clay, a 'mason' worked with stone.  
  
"Harry Mason then," Harry agreed with a slight smile wavering on his visage.  
  
"You will be Sorted and it will be explained that you are from Durmstrang but your parents decided, after being moved in their jobs as architects, one Muggle-born and the other not, from Bulgaria to Wales, that you needed to be close to them and so moved you to Hogwarts." The ancient wizard smiled. "And not to mention you were a 'troublemaker' and they thought a change in schools would be good for you."  
  
Harry couldn't help the quiet chuckle that escaped his lips at the thought of him being a troublemaker. "Well, my universe's Snape certainly thinks I'm a troublemaker, so I'll just work on fulfilling that role. How much of a troublemaker am I?"  
  
"Think of the Weasley twins, add in a touch of scorn for authority, and you'll have it, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes were definitely twinkling now. "While you adjust to life in this universe, I'll try to figure out how you got here and how to get you back home."  
  
Immediately, a wave of relief washed over the boy. "Thank you, sir. I won't tell anyone about my universe." His visage darkened a bit. "I don't think they'd want to hear about it."  
  
Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, you're probably right." The headmaster stood and glanced around the room once before smiling at the teenager. "Why don't we go back to the infirmary and inform our curious friends who you are?"  
  
"If Ron, Hermione, and Charlie are anything like they are in my universe, they'll be waiting outside your office," Harry said, grinning as he did so.  
  
Dumbledore chuckled and nodded. "Then let's let them inside, shall we?" He gestured, and the door opened to reveal the sheepish figures of Ron, Hermione, Charlie, and even Madam Pomfrey. The headmaster looked stern, but his eyes were twinkling as he said, "Come in."  
  
The quartet shuffled in, casting sheepish glances at both Harry and Dumbledore before sitting in various chairs.  
  
"Sorry, Headmaster, we simply-" Charlie's apology was cut off by Dumbledore's laugh.  
  
"Think nothing of it, Charlie. Curiosity can be a good thing at times." The headmaster watched the embarrassed group for a long moment before clearing his throat. "It seems there has been an interesting occurrence that happened a little over an hour ago." He nodded towards Harry, who fought the urge to blush as everyone glanced at him. "This happens to be Harry Mason, an unhappy visitor from an alternate universe."  
  
"An alternate universe?" Ron repeated incredulously, his eyes wide in shock. "How's that possible?"  
  
"We don't know at this time, Ron. We only know that our universes are very different but have the same people in them. In his universe, he's best friends with you and Hermione." This time Harry did flush as Ron and Hermione's shocked gazes landed on him. "I will not tell you much more, but in our universe Harry Mason doesn't exist."  
  
"So he's not allowed to tell us about his universe?"  
  
"Correct, Hermione."  
  
Harry bit back a laugh. This Dumbledore called everyone by their first names? Well, perhaps he did so only in the presence of friends and not in public when he was the headmaster and supposed to be impartial. He managed to keep from laughing when Charlie turned a curious gaze upon him.  
  
"So what are you going to do with Harry Mason, Headmaster?"  
  
Dumbledore explained Harry's new role, much as he had to Harry himself. When he finished his explanation, the group nodded as one.  
  
"We shall have the Sorting as soon as possible," Dumbledore added, his eyes flickering towards Harry. "Think you'll be able to stay in your role, Harry?"  
  
Harry managed a grin. "I've never tried being a troublemaker. Well, okay, I've broken a lot of rules, but only because I /had/ to, but I've never been a troublemaker with attitude." His smile widened in amusement. "Time to see if I've got any acting skills at all."  
  
"Let's hope you do, Harry," replied Dumbledore, rising from his chair. "In the meantime, you look like you need some sleep and some food."  
  
The brunet immediately fought the urge to redden and instead ducked his head. "I'm fine," he assured the headmaster, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. "Really."  
  
Dumbledore didn't reply, but somehow Harry knew he looked disbelieving. After a long, tense silence that made Harry flush in embarrassment, Dumbledore stated, "Still, we'll have you sleep in the infirmary for the night if you don't mind."  
  
"That's fine with me." Harry didn't dare look up as the rest of the group stood. "Could—could I have my wand back now?"  
  
"Of course." The teenager looked up at last when the headmaster pressed the wand into his hand. If he had clung to the glasses like a life preserver, he now clung to his wand like it was a lifeboat. This was the wand that had protected him and kept him from being killed by Voldemort only a few weeks before. This was the wand he was meant to have, and the fact that Charlie and Dumbledore could take it away from him so easily chilled him.  
  
"Poppy, could you escort Harry back to the infirmary? Charlie, I need to speak with you privately. Ron, Hermione, I believe Tom needs some ego- boosting before his Quidditch match."  
  
Ron and Hermione nodded and hurried out of the room, Ron calling over his shoulder to Charlie, "We'll save a seat for you!"  
  
The second oldest Weasley smiled and shook his head as the door closed behind his youngest brother, his look affectionate. He turned Prussian blue eyes upon Harry for a brief moment before he smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Harry, and I hope you can settle in while the headmaster figures out how to get you home."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said, fiddling with the wand and offering the Weasley a genuine smile. "It was nice—meeting—you too." He stumbled over the word, but flashed Charlie a quick smile to show he meant no offense.  
  
"Well, we're going to fatten you up, child," Madam Pomfrey announced briskly, taking Harry's arm and steering him towards the door. "I'll make sure he eats a good meal and gets a full night's sleep, Headmaster."  
  
"Yeah, right," the teenager muttered in disbelief, but to himself as he was marched back to the infirmary by the nurse and quietly enough so that no one could hear him.  
  
Madam Pomfrey forced him into a bed in the empty infirmary, and proceeded to give him a tray of mouth-watering food, setting the warm tray in his lap and ordering him to eat. One glare from the nurse stopped his original protest, and grudgingly the teenager attempted to consume the meal. After only a few mouthfuls, however, the nausea that had been afflicting him ever since he had come home from Hogwarts and been left alone to his thoughts of Cedric. Every morsel of food he swallowed was a taste that Cedric would never be able to savor again because of Harry's stupidity.  
  
He glanced down at the plate and realized that he had only eaten about one- third of the entire plate. Noticing that Madam Pomfrey was watching him, he bit back a sigh and forced himself to eat a few more spoonfuls before the queasiness overwhelmed him and he pushed the food away, taking a deep breath to try and settle his stomach.  
  
"Aren't you going to eat the rest, child?"  
  
"I'll try to finish it later, please." That answer seemed to satisfy her, for Madam Pomfrey nodded and took the plate of food away for the moment. A second later she returned with a glass of water.  
  
"Drink some water. Your color gives away the fact that you're dehydrated."  
  
Numbly, Harry did so, grateful that the water took away the flavors of the food still lingering in his mouth. He didn't deserve these flavors. Cedric, who had been kind and smart and funny and strong and everything that Harry wasn't, was the one who deserved them. Cedric, who had only died because he had grabbed the Cup at the same time Harry had because /Harry/ had suggested it. When he finished the water, the glass was snatched away and replaced by a steaming mug of tea, which Madam Pomfrey informed him would help him gain the minerals he had lost by 'starving himself so.'  
  
Harry had finished most of it before she added, with a mischievous half- smile on her face, "It's also a sleeping draught, so you should fall asleep in—oh, a minute or so?"  
  
The teenager, who had just taken a sip, choked on the tea, and gazed with widened eyes at the woman. It was only then that he felt the sleeping draught begin to take affect, a sluggishness beginning a slow, gradual sweep up and down his frame to loosen out tense muscles. "That wasn't-" he began, but even to his own ears he sounded slurred and sleepy.  
  
Madam Pomfrey chuckled softly and smoothed back his locks in a motherly fashion. As his heavy eyelids began to close on their own free will, he heard her exclaim, "My, what an unusual scar!" before those lids fluttered close and he was asleep.  
  
(To be continued) 


	4. Chapter Four

(Author's Thanks: GayRon, Anonymous, Julie, and lurker for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay! Schoolwork and the other fanfics have been keeping me otherwise occupied. Please remember to read and review. It inspires me to write! Here's where some unusual pairings come in, so steel yourself. *impish grin*  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Four  
  
When the sleeping draught finally wore up, Harry woke with the sound of boisterous laughter filling his ears. It took a moment for his sleepy brain to process and translate the cheerful words that came from beyond his bed.  
  
"You should have seen Charlie's expression when you took that Bludger, Tom! I thought he was going to run onto the field when all you had was a broken arm!" The voice was familiar to Harry's not-quite-awake brain, and the brunet wondered why people were in his room.  
  
Loud laughter answered the voice, and someone commented, teasingly, "All I had was a broken arm? Thanks for the concern, Draco. It's nice to know I'm so loved."  
  
At that statement, two thoughts flooded Harry's bemused brain. First, that there was only one Draco and that was Draco Malfoy. Second, there was no reason that Malfoy would be in his bedroom unless....  
  
Unless he hadn't dreamed things, and he really was in an alternate reality.  
  
Not caring that his mind had made the conclusions based on flimsy and rather odd circumstances, his green eyes opened wide and he bolted into a sitting position, blinking owlishly at the large group of people around him as his mind finally caught him up on the situation at hand. His glasses were easily snatched from the nearby bed stand and he slid the frames onto his nose.  
  
Several familiar people turned to gaze curiously at him, and he swallowed violently, trying hard not to let on that he knew them. He blinked in their general direction, at a loss for what to say until Madam Pomfrey's cheerful voice filled the silence he had caused.  
  
"Well, boy, it's good to see you're awake," she declared, suddenly appearing at the foot of his bed and smiling cheerily at him. He didn't return the smile, knowing that the grin was deceiving.  
  
"You gave me a sleeping draught," he accused her, remembering his supposed problem with authority. Of course, his scowl wasn't all that feigned. He didn't appreciate being drugged.  
  
As several of the partiers snickered in the background, the nurse offered him an innocent look. "Well, it got you some sleep, didn't it?" she pointed out, her hands on hips before she turned with a look at the group. "And you all woke him up!" As the assembly looked guilty, she turned back towards Harry. "Do you think you can get back to sleep?"  
  
Harry ignored her and glanced at one of the partiers, feeling his stomach twist at all the familiar faces that now watched him with a sort of blank curiousness to their eyes. "What's going on?"  
  
Ron shot him a compassionate look as he responded. "Tom won the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match, but got himself a broken arm in the process."  
  
Harry winced sympathetically. "That's never pleasant," he agreed before the name finally clicked, and his eyes widened. His already pale face went completely ashen as he realized that the Weasley was talking about Tom Riddle.  
  
"Are you all right, dear?" Madam Pomfrey had apparently noticed his lack of color, and he glanced at her to see her concerned expression.  
  
Blinking owlishly once more and taking a quick, soothing breath, he responded by glaring at her. "I'm not saying anything. Anything I say you'll use to find an excuse to drug me again," he informed her, projecting an annoyed attitude to his words. He was finding this rebel manner quite easy to handle.  
  
As Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes and turned to scold Tom for not sitting still as his bone healed, Harry glanced around at the group, most of whom had returned their attention to the party. His gaze took in familiar faces who didn't know him. Ron Weasley, who was now chatting with a grinning Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, who had a broad, pleasant smile on his face. Neville Longbottom, who was now slim and tanned, with a confident air around him as he leaned in to talk to a snickering Seamus Finnigan. Dean Thomas stood tall and relaxed in a corner, grinning towards Ginny Weasley, who was eagerly demonstrating something she had learned in Charms. Charlie Weasley, who was bent over the bed smiling softly down at Tom Riddle.  
  
Tom Riddle. Harry's breath caught in his throat for a moment as he gazed upon the dark-haired youth and wondered if they were related in /his/ universe. Dimly, in the back of his head, he heard the Diary Tom Riddle commenting about how alike they were. A shiver ran up and down his spine, but the fifteen-year-old didn't move. His green eyes took in Tom's pleasant, smiling face, and wondered if Voldemort had ever been this happy when not doing an evil deed. He had to have been an innocent child at one point or another, right?  
  
A warm plate was suddenly thrust into his lap, and Harry yelped softly, his startled gaze transferring down to the steaming tray of his leftover food. "So I'm apparently hungry now?" he inquired dryly, gazing down at the mouth- watering food.  
  
"You will eat, or I will drug you some more," stated the nurse, sounding firm. "Now eat, my sickly child. I shall fatten you up."  
  
"Oh yes, so the Witch of the Forest can gobble me up," the black- haired youth muttered, nevertheless nibbling on a piece of warm bread. The butter tantalized his taste buds, and he eagerly bit into the soft whiteness. He'd eat as much as he could before the nausea set in.  
  
"So, who are you, New Boy?" The cheerful, memorable voice filled his ears, and Harry's head shot up. The brunet did a double take, literally. When had George and Fred stolen into the infirmary?  
  
"Harry, Harry Mason." The lie flowed so easily from the teenager's lips that he wondered at himself. "Recently of Durmstrang."  
  
"Harry Mason doesn't sound like a name that belongs in Durmstrang," said George—or was it Fred?—in response, his hazel eyes keen.  
  
Harry offered them a shrug. "My parents are architects. They moved around, and finally decided on Durmstrang as my school." He attempted a smirk, his lips unused to the twists and curves of the gesture. "Needless to say, they were pleased when I, er, /switched/ schools." He made the comment sound as smooth and as nonchalant as possible, earning a wide-eyed gaze from the redheaded twins.  
  
"You got expelled?"  
  
"From Durmstrang?" the other twin added.  
  
The brunet twitched his thin shoulders once more, keeping the smirk on his face. "What can I say? Nobody at Durmstrang has any sense of humor." He paused, and added as an afterthought, "They don't like being told to their faces that they're idiots, either."  
  
Both of the twins smiled an identical grin of impish delight and offered him a high-five. Still smirking, Harry complied, feeling their warm palms slap against his.  
  
"So, how did your parents take you being expelled?" One of them asked him, his tone light but inquisitive at the same time.  
  
The brunet shrugged once more, deciding that a shrug would be Harry Mason's favorite way of answering people. "They still think I'm 'salvageable.' They practically begged Dumbledore to let me come to Hogwarts." Another twist of his lips showed them what he thought of the idea.  
  
"So, what year are you in? Third?"  
  
"Why does everyone think that?" Harry demanded in an aggrieved tone. "I'm fifteen! I'm fifteen, not a little thirteen-year-old!"  
  
"Really?" The two chorused as one, wearing matching looks of surprise.  
  
"Really," the brunet grumbled.  
  
"You look really young though," commented one.  
  
"And being skinny doesn't help you any," added the other.  
  
"Well, I'm fifteen." Of course, neither one of them knew that he was actually still fourteen since transferring to an alternate reality had made him skip his birthday.  
  
He noticed Madam Pomfrey watching him, and glared darkly at her. Her only response was to wave her hands in an eating motion. When he scowled and shook his head, the familiar queasiness beginning in his stomach, the nurse marched over to his bed.  
  
"Harry Mason, you will eat right now!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"No."  
  
"My, this should prove to be a fascinating conversation," commented one of the twins, earning a glare from both of the arguers in the process. He beamed at the duo before they focused on arguing over eating.  
  
At last, Harry emerged victorious, his green eyes watching the defeated woman slink back to scold Tom, again, for moving around while his bones were knitting together. As Tom began to protest his innocence, the brunet returned his attention to the twins.  
  
"Why aren't you hungry?"  
  
The frank question earned a rather blank look for a long moment before Harry recovered. He scowled, but it wasn't directed at the questioning twin and instead in the direction of a certain Madam Pomfrey. "If I eat, she'll lace my food with some drug to make me sleep again. I'm not about to miss a party!"  
  
"Sounds like a good reason to me," stated the questioner with a smirk.  
  
"A very good reason," agreed the other before they launched themselves into the group of partygoers, attaching themselves to various people, literally.  
  
One of the twins leapt upon a very surprised Lee Jordan's back, and down the two tumbled, with an aggrieved yell of, "George!" filling the air. The other twin scooped an equally startled Hermione Granger into his arms, twirling her around as her yelp of "Fred!" followed Lee's exclamation. Well, as long as the two continued to pester Hermione and Lee, Harry would be able to tell who was who.  
  
Ron, shaking his head at Fred, muttered something to Malfoy, who was snickering. It took the Potter a few seconds to realize why the blond Slytherin sounded so odd: his laughter held no cruel undertone, only jovial amusement. After Malfoy replied to Ron, the redhead grinned and headed towards Harry's bed.  
  
Cerulean met emerald as the two watched each other for a long moment. As the silence wrapped itself around them and became almost smothering, Ron finally spoke. "Would you like me to point everyone out and describe them to you?"  
  
Harry found himself smiling. "That'd be great-" The response died on his lips as cheers erupted and he glanced beyond Ron just in time to see Lee and George engaged in an extremely passionate kiss. The Gryffindor's jaw dropped, and he stared, knowing his face must have been picture-perfect.  
  
The second youngest Weasley couldn't hide his grin. "Maybe I should talk about who's in a relationship with who, and who I think is going to get together?" he added in an innocent tone.  
  
"That would probably be a good idea." Harry's tone was slightly weak as he tore his eyes away from the show George and Lee were presenting to everyone. "No one's, um, together, er, like that where I'm from."  
  
The Weasley brushed a lock of cerise away from his freckled face and grinned before he launched into the descriptions, making sure to make it seem to any listener that he was explaining who people were. "Well, the two enjoying themselves against the wall are my brother George and his boyfriend Lee Jordan. Now that George is with Lee, the twins don't get into half as much trouble as they used to. Of course, Fred going out with Hermione Granger helped distract both of them."  
  
Harry's face must have registered his absolute shock, for Ron shot him a sympathetic look once more. The brunet struggled with this information, and at last managed to mumble, "Isn't she a bit young for him?"  
  
The Weasley shrugged. "Maybe, but you'll find that everyone here tends to find their loves really quickly." His face darkened for the moment. "With You-Know-Who killing at random, most people decide they want to experience love just in case they're his next victim."  
  
The Potter's stomach twisted at the bleak note in Ron's words. Was this what it had been like when Voldemort had been so powerful? Was this what it would be like now that Voldemort was as strong as ever before?  
  
It took a moment for Harry to realize that Ron had begun speaking once more, "Hermione's a prefect, naturally. The blonde over there is Draco Malfoy. He's a Slytherin, but don't let that keep you from getting to know him. He's really sweet, especially if Seamus likes you. Seamus is the Irish one, and they've been together for a little over six months now."  
  
Continuing on and ignoring Harry's thunderstruck look, he stated, "The guy Seamus is talking to is Neville Longbottom." The redhead's voice softened at the name, and the brunet noticed a faint, tender smile toying with Ron's lips.  
  
"You're, you're with Neville?" The astonishment was obvious in Harry's voice, and the redhead frowned at him.  
  
"He's kind and sweet and gentle," snapped the Weasley, his pale eyes flashing in defense of his boyfriend. "And he loves me. What more could I ask for?"  
  
"I'm sorry." There was an apologetic tone in the Potter's voice even as he struggled to hide his astonishment. "Where I'm from, you two wouldn't, well, you wouldn't be together."  
  
Ron looked sad. "We wouldn't?" The whisper was so soft that Harry leaned forward to capture it. "Does anyone love each other where you're from, Harry Mason?"  
  
Harry closed his eyes, fighting against the pain for a moment as images of people he loved, cared for, or even admired flashed through his head. His parents. Ron. Hermione. The others in the Gryffindor House. Cedric. "Yes, but not with the abandon you all do," he said at last, opening his eyes to smile a bit sadly. "My parents did, and look where that got them-" Sorrow has loosened his tongue, and he bit his lower lip as he realized he'd said far too much.  
  
"Did?" The single word hung in the air between them, and Ron's eyes seemed to understand as the cerulean orbs lit with recognition.  
  
Harry looked away, swallowing the lump of misery that had developed in his throat. "I can't talk about it."  
  
"Alright." Ron accepted the reason without complaint, and waved a hand towards the bed that Tom was sprawled upon, still arguing with Madam Pomfrey as Charlie shook his head in amusement. "That's Tom Riddle. He's the nephew of James Potter. I don't know where James is at the moment, but he's probably off with Lucius Malfoy, Draco's dad. They're-"  
  
"-together," Harry finished the sentence, pleased with actually not having to be shocked. "Dumbledore told me. Is Tom with anyone?"  
  
Ron shook his head, shrugging. "If he is, I don't know about it. Tom's sort of quiet about that sort of thing." His eyes searched the group. "Oh, the black fellow is Dean Thomas, and he's with Justin Fitch-Fletchley. Justin's a Hufflepuff, so he's probably off sulking over the Gryffindor victory."  
  
"Hey, Mason!" Harry glanced up to see Fred grinning at him. Something was hurled through the air, and the brunet caught it. "I bet you've never had a Hogwarts snack before, and I know it's better than the Durmstrang shit!"  
  
Even as Madam Pomfrey began to scold the Weasley for his language, Harry grinned. The Harry Mason persona he'd created wouldn't back down on a challenge, and so he wolfed the small pastry down. It was a familiar, soothing taste, and he called back, "Is that all Hogwarts has? I've eaten much better at-" The words faltered on his lips as a familiar sluggishness began to spread through his frame. "Bloody hell! Who in their right mind would drug a pastry? That's just wrong!"  
  
"Sorry, but she bribed me," stated the very unrepentant redhead, grinning as Harry swayed in his sitting position.  
  
His eyelids felt unbelievably heavy, but he forced them to stay open as he glared at the group, most of whom were watching on in amusement. His green eyes lingered on Madam Pomfrey, who looked quite pleased with herself.  
  
"I don't like you," Harry snarled, fairly coherently, before the drug took complete affect and he fell back senseless against the pillows.  
  
(To be continued) 


	5. Chapter Five

(Author's Thanks: Stormy1x2, LadyBird, mike, Julie, Hanaus and npetrenko for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
Author's Notes: *impish grin* I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Two more unusual pairings pop up in this one. *grins some more* Oh, and wow, six reviews? They made me feel great! Thanks, everyone!  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Five  
  
When Harry awoke from his second drugged sleep, it was to the sound of soft whispers, not rowdy laughter.  
  
"Charlie, you shouldn't be here. What if Madam Pomfrey catches you?"  
  
"I'll just say I had a bout of insomnia and decided to come visit you. I had to talk to you in private." Even Harry's sleepy brain managed to process the fact that Charlie Weasley was in the infirmary visiting-who?  
  
"Do you think she'll believe you?" The soft, hopeful words tugged at Harry's memory banks. The voice was vaguely familiar, but the Boy Who Lived couldn't recall a name. After all, it couldn't be Tom.  
  
"Of course, who can resist my Weasley charm?"  
  
"Well, Hermione, Lee, Severus, Neville, Oliver, and your secret lover couldn't, but that's not the point. She might be able to, and I'll bet the new guy will too."  
  
"Who, Harry?"  
  
"I guess that's his name. George called him Mason," murmured the unnamed voice.  
  
"No, Fred did. His name's Harry Mason and he's recently of Durmstrang."  
  
"How'd you know that?"  
  
"Remember when Pig flew off and I was recruited to go find the git? Well, I met him then."  
  
Harry finally opened his eyes, but everything was blurred and he couldn't grab his glasses without being detected. So he squinted into the blurred mass that was probably the curtain around his bed, and attempted to identify the voice that Charlie spoke so secretively to.  
  
"Oh, that makes sense. What do you think of him?" There was curiosity in the voice, and the Boy Who Lived had to fight back a grin. What /did/ Charlie Weasley think about him? And what could the man say without straying from Dumbledore's assessment of Harry's new personality?  
  
"Well, I didn't get a chance to talk to him that much, but he seems interesting. Everyone can tell he doesn't like authority, after his arguments with Poppy. He was actually polite to me, for the most part. Very, very sarcastic."  
  
"Ah, he'll get along with Draco then," declared the voice, and Harry knew that whoever was speaking was grinning.  
  
"How /are/ Draco and Seamus doing, by the way? That trip to Romania for three weeks really made me lose track of everything going on here."  
  
"They're great. Seamus dotes on Draco, and Draco puts up with Seamus' antics." There was fondness in the person's voice, and Harry had to remind himself that Malfoy was a good guy in this universe. "I note you didn't ask about your oldest brother."  
  
"Why, do I need to?" Charlie asked, sounding amused. "He and Severus are obsessed about each other. That will never fade."  
  
This time Harry had to fight back a gasp. Bill and Snape, together as a /couple/? This entire universe was insane! How could any of them have found love in such odd relationships? The Potter was certain that his universe would never have such pairings. His blind eyes remained focused on the curtains as Charlie and the other person kept talking.  
  
"Touché," the voice commented, laughing softly. "Those two will love each other forever."  
  
"Just like me and my lover, right, Tom?" The words were infinitely teasing, but Harry was definitely bewildered now. This universe was too confusing.. Besides, who did Charlie love? A better question: How much older was Snape compared to Bill?  
  
The Boy Who Lived was still trying to cope with the astounding news he had just eavesdropped upon when a loud voice declared, "Charlie! What in Merlin's beard are you doing here?"  
  
"I was-was having a bout of insomnia, Poppy. I came to peek in on Tom, and he was awake, so we got to talking, trying to wear him out so he'd sleep again." After the initial stumble, Charlie's amiable words had grown confident.  
  
"Well, you two could have woken me up," Harry heard Madam Pomfrey declared, sounding mollified. "Would you like me to get you two some nice cups of tea? It'll relax you, so you'll fall back to sleep quickly."  
  
"Will it be drugged like everything you seem to stuff in Harry Mason's mouth?" Charlie inquired, sounding innocent even as Tom quietly laughed.  
  
"Harry Mason is in a league all his own, Charlie Weasley. And in fact, his sleeping draught should have worn off a few minutes ago. I got up to check on him."  
  
Harry quickly closed his eyes and evened out his breathing as soft footfalls met his ears. A moment later, the curtain was shoved aside and the nurse's voice filled his ears. "Harry Mason, are you awake?"  
  
The Boy Who Lived purposely mumbled something intelligible, waving a clumsy arm at her. "G'way," he finally declared, deciding to attempt a sleep- slurred speech. "No drugs."  
  
He heard Charlie and Tom's laughter, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey's huff. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him roughly. "Come on, dear, you need to have some tea and then go back to sleep."  
  
"Gi' los'. No tea," Harry mumbled, and this time the sleep-garbled speech wasn't faked. After closing his eyes, lethargy had snuck upon him, and now he didn't want to open his eyes. Besides, he was nice and warm and he could actually sleep without Uncle Vernon screaming at him to get up..  
  
"Get up!" The hand shook him roughly, but Harry muttered something incoherent once more, letting the soothing sleep rise over him and darkness claim him.  
  
. . .  
  
Consciousness came back to him slowly, quickening his senses. With a low moan, he reached out blindly, grabbing the smooth texture of his glasses. Propping himself up on one elbow, he slipped them onto his face and glanced around. The curtains were still closed, but somehow he knew it wasn't quite dawn.  
  
Why was it so quiet? Harry couldn't even hear Tom breathing in the bed nearby. Blinking in bewilderment, the Boy Who Lived reached out a hand to push aside the curtains and see if the other boy had dashed off with Charlie to go meet with the latter's 'secret lover.'  
  
His face turned slightly ashen at the thought of what that could mean before he shook his head and shoved a little bit of the curtain aside. To his surprise, a warm light spilled into the darkness that had covered him. The bright beams danced across his frozen flesh, warming the cold boy. Of course, the bright light also blinded him.  
  
Blinking to clear the black spots from his vision, Harry poked his head through the curtains and glanced around. The place was completely empty. His eyes widened in astonishment. Shouldn't there be /someone/ here?  
  
Biting his lower lip, the Gryffindor eased himself off the bed, still in the Muggle clothes he had been wearing when he had changed dimensions. Deep green eyes surveyed his surroundings as momentary dizziness struck him. He had stood up too fast. Closing his eyes for a moment to regain his equilibrium, Harry recovered it and opened his eyes once more.  
  
"Madam Pomfrey? Tom?" The quiet calls seemed to shatter the peaceful scene, and the bright light dimmed, leaving the Potter cold once more. Shivering and rubbing his arms, the thin boy frowned. "Is anyone here?"  
  
"Here." The voice from behind him made Harry jump and whirl, his eyes wide with surprise. His stunned green eyes took in the figure that had suddenly appeared, and his breath caught in his throat.  
  
Cedric Diggory smiled at him, reclining comfortably upon the bed. His gray eyes were kind as he raised an elegant eyebrow. In his hand, he held a hand- knit blanket the same color as Harry's eyes.  
  
"Cedric?" The astonished whisper escaped the brunet's lips even as he realized he had to be dreaming. "You're-you're-"  
  
"Dead?" The Hufflepuff Seeker suggested with a broad, amused grin, tossing the blanket at the surprised boy. "Well, of course, but that's why I'm having so much fun!"  
  
The blanket struck Harry in the chest, and he barely managed to catch it before the blanket could fall to the ground. Immediately, the boy clutched the knitting to his chest like a lifesaver, staring at the older boy with bewildered green eyes.  
  
"You look like someone just told you that Professor Snape is secretly in love with Madam Pomfrey, Potter," teased Cedric, the kindness still in his eyes. "Sure, I'm dead and talking to you, but that isn't any odder than you suddenly finding yourself in an alternate universe where you don't exist."  
  
"For one thing, that was a really /horrid/ mental image. For another, you're just a figment of my imagination that likes to torture me. I must say this is a better dream than reliving your death, though." Harry was vaguely aware that he was babbling, but couldn't seem to help himself as he clutched the green blanket.  
  
"For your information, I am not a figment of your imagination," stated Cedric, sounding mildly insulted, but the warmth never fading from his handsome face. "It's simply easier for spirits to speak to the living during a dream state rather than when the living is awake. Sleep is, after all, a cousin of Death."  
  
"Well, that's cheerful." Harry shivered once more, and finally moved to drape the blanket around his shoulders. The blanket settled gently upon him, warming him as if he was covered by numerous layers in bed. Blinking in surprise, he focused on the spirit of Cedric Diggory. "So, why did you decide to visit me?"  
  
"Besides to tell you to stop being a bloody git and not feeling guilty about me all the time? It wasn't your fault, and besides, it's pretty interesting being dead. Not that I wouldn't rather be alive, mind you, but it's better than most of the Muggles and wizards think." Cedric's tone was far too cheerful for someone talking about his own death, and there was a bright smile on his striking face.  
  
"So-so my parents are all right?" Harry's green eyes searched Cedric's pale gray ones.  
  
An uncomfortable look flitted across the spirit's face before he grinned. "Well, that's the thing. Most spirits can go up to a place we all like to call Elysium and hang out there, but those killed and then not avenged are sort of stuck wandering around the universes for a while." Cedric's next sentence was meant to soothe. "Once someone kills Voldemort, your parents, a bunch of other nice folks, and I will have the option of going to rest at Elysium. Right now, your parents are wandering around a universe where there was no Dark Lord at all." He snickered. "You should have seen your dad's face when he found a universe that had him paired up with Lucius and Lily as a threesome!"  
  
Harry, however, turned green at the thought and the horrible images that accompanied it. "Ugh, my dad in a threesome? That's not something I want to hear about."  
  
"You look exactly like he did when he heard about it. Of course, Lily thought it was hilarious." Cedric smirked. "She's pretty cool about these things. Of course, she turned bright red when she found a universe where she was with Professor Snape."  
  
"You're just telling me this just to make me vomit, aren't you?"  
  
"Sorry, I'll stop." The Hufflepuff was still grinning. "Anyway, now that I've told you, could you stop moping and actually get healthy? Your parents were not amused when I popped in and found out that you hadn't been eating or sleeping."  
  
"Why didn't they come with you?" There was almost a pitiful note to Harry's voice, and Cedric's grin faded a little.  
  
"Oh, they'll come to visit soon. I just asked to speak to you in private since your parents would get all choked up and you'd completely ignore me if I tried to explain everything."  
  
Harry blinked, but the other boy's logic made sense and he reluctantly nodded. "Okay, I get it. I promise I'll try to start eating better-as long as this universe's Madam Pomfrey stops drugging me. That's just bloody annoying."  
  
"Want me to haunt her?" Cedric offered, making Harry laugh. "Of course, it wouldn't be much of a haunting since-"  
  
. . .  
  
"Harry!" The cried name made the Gryffindor blink and bolt upright, his vision blurred once more. His sleep-addled brain was bewildered, and he wondered where Cedric was.  
  
Someone slipped his glasses onto his face, and he saw the concerned face of Madam Pomfrey gazing at him. Instantaneously, the drowsiness vanished, replaced by pure annoyance. "Why the hell did you wake me?" he snarled, surprised at the venom in his words. "I was having a /nice/ dream."  
  
The nurse huffed before pressing a hand to his forehead. "It's time for breakfast, and I thought you'd like to have some food. Then you wouldn't wake up, and I was worried."  
  
"It's called a /deep/ sleep for a reason." Harry grouched for a few more seconds before the smell of biscuits caressed his senses. For the first time in a long while he felt ravenous with no thought of the fact that Cedric wouldn't be able to eat the biscuits he was about to devour.  
  
The warm tray settled upon his lap, the heat soaking into his thighs and stomach and warming him. He actually smiled before tucking in, each bite only increasing his desire for the meal. Cedric's affectionate words washed over him as he consumed the biscuits, and for the first time in what seemed forever, Harry felt at peace.  
  
"Harry?" The soft whisper met his ears and made the boy pause, turning his green gaze in the direction of the nearby bed.  
  
"Yes—Tom, isn't it?" He was a much better actor than he thought. Did wizards have theaters and that sort of thing? Maybe he would try a few productions after graduation. If he ever got home, that is. "Ron was pointing some of you out, especially the people in my year." Harry couldn't help but add hastily, "I'm in my fifth year like you, in case you can't tell." Madam Pomfrey had vanished, apparently back to her office.  
  
"Sorry, I'm not very good at judging ages." There was a somewhat sheepish note to Tom Riddle's voice, and the Boy Who Lived found himself gazing at the other boy in wonder. Had his universe's Tom ever looked this carefree and pure? As Harry watched, the nephew of James Potter looked embarrassed once more. "Listen, I was wondering—why do you hate Madam Pomfrey so much?"  
  
"Would you like someone who keeps drugging you and stuffing food down your throat?" Harry inquired with a note of sarcasm in his voice as his aggravation at this universe's Madam Pomfrey was invoked.  
  
"Well, no, but she's actually a very nice person-"  
  
"I'll believe that when I see it." The Boy Who Lived cut the other boy off, his tone polite but curt. He glanced at Tom and noticed that the other boy had only a cup of steaming liquid in his hands. "Did you already eat?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Madam Pomfrey's just having me drink some of her specialized tea. I'll be going to class soon, and you'll be stuck all by yourself in this lovely infirmary." The Riddle offered Harry a teasing grin, which the latter slowly returned.  
  
"Any way to waylaid her?"  
  
"Nope. You haven't got a chance, my Durmstrang friend."  
  
"Bloody hell. Oh, and since you already seem to know about my former school, how fast does word travel in Hogwarts?"  
  
"Well, let me put it this way. If it's a secret, then the whole school will eventually know about it."  
  
"Let me repeat: bloody hell," moaned Harry, although he had already known that.  
  
Tom chuckled and offered him a sympathetic look at the same time. "You get used to it."  
  
"Secrets stayed secrets where I'm from." Shaking his head, the brunet tilted his head thoughtfully. "And there definitely weren't as many unusual relationships."  
  
His fellow brunet blushed and glanced away. "Um, well, I hope it doesn't bother you. Dumbledore encourages us to find true love, in case something should happen." Tom's tone darkened at the final part of the sentence.  
  
"Yeah, Ron mentioned something along the lines of that. I'm just finding it hard to take in, I guess." Harry offered Tom a sheepish smile of his own, and tried to think of what Dumbledore had told him to say. "My parents—one's Muggle-born and the other's not—never really talked to me about-" The Potter felt his cheeks warm in embarrassment because he couldn't quite say the word, and finally ended with, "-same-sex relationships. I guess they think I'm an innocent." A sarcastic curve twisted his lips.  
  
Tom looked relieved. "Oh, don't worry. Not many magical schools are as open about homosexuality as Hogwarts is." His look shifted to one of curiousness. "Do you have a preference?"  
  
If Harry had thought his cheeks had been warm struggling to say the word homosexuality, it was nothing compared to the fact that his entire face felt like he had just stuck his face into a roaring fireplace. His face was probably the color of a tomato. "I-I, um-" His tongue felt suddenly leaden in his mouth as he considered his crush on Cho Chang.  
  
"Sorry, I shouldn't pry. It's your own business." Tom's voice was apologetic.  
  
Finally his tongue loosened, and the statement slipped from his lips before his brain even registered the words. "I heard you two."  
  
All color fled Tom's face, and the Gryffindor looked nervous. "What?"  
  
"I heard you two, you and Charlie. I won't tell anyone though, I promise. I- I pretended to be asleep because I didn't want to bother you, but I could hear your voices talking about Seamus and Draco and some people named Bill and Severus, and that Charlie has some sort of secret lover. I won't tell!" The final sentence escaped him in a rush, and Harry sagged against the pillows.  
  
"Please don't," Tom said, his smile weak. "His boyfriend's father would kill Charlie since he's more than a tad homophobic."  
  
"Tom?" Both brunets turned their heads towards the door, and Harry found himself gawking at the two figures standing there.  
  
"Oh, hello, Bill! Hi Severus!" he heard Tom state cheerfully as the Boy Who Lived lowered his gaze to his plate of biscuits and tried to figure out how on earth Snape had been changed so much.  
  
(To be continued) 


	6. Side Story One

(Author's Thanks: Myk, Kazuko, and npetrenko for reviewing.  
  
Author's Notes: *grins* Here's a little treat for you all. Every couple of chapters I'm going to surprise you all with a side story about one of the pairings in Nest of the Phoenix. A bit of an explanation on how they got together, if you will. Reviews would be appreciated, and it'd be amusing to see the guesses on which pairings I'll do a short story of next.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
Enjoy the first side story of the Nest of the Phoenix!  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Side Stories from Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed  
  
Short Story One: Bill and Severus  
  
Severus Snape glanced around the damp dungeon and fought back the urge to sigh. While it was true that most people enjoyed Potions class, it was also all-too-accurate that students rarely stayed after class to discuss the projects they did in class.  
  
Was he simply a good teacher but a horrid conversationalist? Was that it? Did people think he was boring outside of educating Hogwarts learners about Potions?  
  
So the professor could bottle glory and pause death with a few brews but couldn't hold a decent tête-à-tête if his life depended on it. How was that for irony?  
  
This time the sigh escaped his lips, and he rested his head in his arms, pressing his cheek against the cotton fabric of his plain black robes. The clothing rustled, lulling Severus into a sense of security. Did it matter that no one seemed to remember he existed? Headmaster Dumbledore had a use for him, and that should have been enough. He was one of the unsung heroes, and always would be.  
  
Yet it wasn't enough. The Slytherin needed company, craved it, would have given anything to have someone engage him in conversation without wanting something in return, but that had never happened, not in all of his years. Not that he was particularly old. In fact, he was only twenty-five. Some of the students had siblings who were older than he was!  
  
So lost in his thoughts, the Potions master didn't hear the door open with a rusting, protesting creak as a slim, tall figure slipped into the room.  
  
"Professor Snape?" The soft, questioning words snapped Severus from his reverie, and he turned his intense dark eyes upon the intruder, his head snapping up and away from his arms. To be found, by a student (by a /Gryffindor/ no less!), curled up like a toddler! His pale cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment as he struggled to hide his mortification.  
  
"What is it, Weasley?" he demanded at last, attempting to sound gruff.  
  
The slender figure smiled slightly, ignoring the curt tone. "I didn't understand some of the notes this afternoon, Professor, and I was wondering if you would help me."  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow, his flush fading slightly as he focused on the conversation at hand. "You didn't understand the notes, Weasley?" Skepticism tinged his words, for the scarlet-haired youth was one of his best students. "Which part?"  
  
William Weasley smiled charmingly and settled himself in a chair so that he was face-to-face with his teacher, only separated by the table. "Well, truthfully, I was distracted, so I didn't understand any of it," he declared, his smile roguish.  
  
"Distracted, Weasley?" Severus gazed at the seventeen-year-old, who stared back without flinching.  
  
"Yes, Professor, I happen to have fallen head over heels with someone in your class, and I simply cannot concentrate on my work!" The handsome Weasley waved a hand in a gesture of despair, and with a start, the Potions master realized that the Head Boy /had/ been slipping a little in his class for the past few weeks.  
  
"Well, Weasley, I'm afraid love potions are illegal and that whoever you're in love with cannot be switched from the course." His firm declarations seemed to amuse the Weasley, whose eyes twinkled merrily.  
  
"You're quite right. Neither of those options would work anyway. My love would be able to discern a love potion at first sight, and it is highly impossible for my object of affection to not be in the Potions class."  
  
The raven-haired Slytherin silently racked his brains for a girl who would fit that description. Most likely a Gryffindor; Hogwarts was still old- fashioned enough that the students normally dated within their Houses. Perhaps it was that Welsh blonde who was fairly sharp at figuring out potions. What was her name? Vivian? Laurel? Laura? The Potions master couldn't recall, but managed to dreg up her last name: Trenary. Yes, Severus could see the boy liking Miss Trenary. The redhead looked like someone who would admire a pretty blonde.  
  
"Well, you can borrow my notes, Weasley, but I'm afraid I can't help you with your love problem," declared Severus at last, slightly pleased with being able to figure out the Gryffindor's love interest. Slender fingers searched and then offered the parchment to the teenager, having discovered the notes easily on his organized desk. "You'll have to find a way to woo the girl somehow and get her off your mind."  
  
"What makes you assume I'm in love with a girl?" The simple question made the Slytherin freeze in place and blink owlishly at the abruptly serious Gryffindor as William Weasley took the papers from the professor's nerveless fingers.  
  
"Well-well I naturally thought-" Severus found himself stammering as he tried to figure out whether or not the redhead was teasing him. He was blushing once more, a dark rose hue on his porcelain cheeks.  
  
Scarlet tendrils were brushed away from a freckled face as William continued to look somber and leaned closer to the desk. "With all due respect, Professor, you're not a /Mudblood/, so you shouldn't have a problem with this." Despite the beginning of the sentence, the tone was dark and sarcastic, startling the Slytherin with its intensity.  
  
"I never said I had a problem with it!" Severus found himself snapping defensively. "You took me by surprise, that's all!"  
  
William leaned even closer, until his slim frame was pressed against the school desk. It was only then that Severus actually gazed into his eyes and realized what a unique color they were. The irises were a deep reddish- brown, an unusual ocher that he had never seen as an eye color and instead only as a hair color.  
  
Ocher fused with obsidian as the duo gazed at each other for a long, hard moment.  
  
"Well, you have your notes, Weasley. I-I wish you luck with whoever you like. If you don't want anyone else to know you like a boy, I won't tell any-"  
  
"Who said I liked a boy?" There was a teasing note to William's words now, but Severus was far from amused.  
  
"You said that you didn't like a girl, Weasley! That means you like a boy, unless you've found an unusual teenager in this school that I'm unaware of!" the Potions professor snapped, his black eyes flashing in annoyance.  
  
William Weasley leaned forward and then looked down so that they were face- to-face, smiling as he did so. Seeming to ignore the fact that if he leaned any further forward their noses would brush against each other, the Weasley chuckled. "Well, I haven't heard of that teenager, sir." He paused, and then added, softer, "Do you have to call me Weasley? It's terribly-cold, really."  
  
"What would you prefer me to call you?" Severus stated cynically, unnerved a little by the teenager's closeness but not moving away.  
  
"Bill." The simple statement was just as soft as his earlier question, and William Weasley looked steadily into the professor's eyes.  
  
"Very well, /Bill/, you said you didn't like a girl, and now you say you don't like a boy. Do you really have an infatuation or are you simply tormenting me as a Gryffindor prank?" Severus' voice was almost bitter at the last part as he immediately assumed that was the reason Bill Weasley was teasing him this way. After all, he was simply the Potions professor. The only reason to talk to him is to learn from him or make fun of him.  
  
"Oh no, I have an 'infatuation,' as you put it." There was an almost rueful smile twisting the Weasley's lips at the statement. "Only, I don't love a boy or a girl. I happen to love a man."  
  
"Well, Weasley-Bill, there aren't-" The Slytherin faltered in his words as the implications of what the Gryffindor had been saying finally hit home. His obsidian-colored eyes were wide with astonishment as he stammered, "You couldn't-it has to be someone else-"  
  
Any other protests were cut off as Bill Weasley leaned even farther forward and captured Severus' lips in a sweet, chaste kiss that tasted of a smooth juice drink he had drunk beforehand.  
  
Against his will, the Potions master bent into the kiss, his eyelids fluttering shut as the teenager's warm, soft lips caressed his mouth. After a long moment of sweetness, Bill pulled away; leaving Severus flushed with not embarrassment or anger but instead desire and excitement.  
  
Bright ocher met amazed obsidian once more, but this time it wasn't a test of wills and instead a look of wondering comprehension as the older of the two lifted a trembling finger to his swollen lips.  
  
"Bill Weasley, where in the world did you learn to kiss like that?" he murmured at last, earning a mischievous smile from the redhead.  
  
"Would you believe me if I said that it was my first kiss?" the Gryffindor inquired innocently.  
  
"No, no I wouldn't."  
  
"Fine then, I've practiced with Laurel Trenary."  
  
The simple statement made Severus' lips twitch before the Potions teacher began to chuckle. The chuckling strengthened into laughter, and finally Severus was about to howl with amusement as Bill sat and watched him.  
  
"L-Laurel Trenary?"  
  
"Well, yes. We experimented back in fifth year." Bill sounded embarrassed even as he cocked an eyebrow at his professor while the dark- eyed man dissolved into laughter once more.  
  
It would be a few months before Severus could get through teaching Potions without glancing over at Laurel and snickering under his breath. It was even longer before he could tell Bill why he had laughed without dissolving into further laughter.  
  
Still, it was the start of a lovely relationship, and Severus Snape found that he was much more social now that he had Bill Weasley by his side.  
  
TBC  
  
(Author's Notes: The sixth chapter of the Nest of the Phoenix will be finished in a couple days, hopefully. I'm being bogged down with homework, so no promises. Please remember to read and review! ~Cinaed) 


	7. Chapter Six

(Author's Thanks: Myk, izean, switchknife, Stephanie, Akurei, and npetrenko for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Six  
  
"Hello, Tom!" Severus Snape's cheerful voice seemed odd to Harry's ears. When had the Potions professor sounded so blithe in his own universe? "Bill and I thought we'd pick you up on the way to class." As the brunet snuck a glance at Snape, he couldn't help but stare at the jet-black locks, which fell in silky, attractive waves to the man's shoulders. What a difference! Nor was his face sallow or unsightly. Instead, he actually had a tan! A light one, but a tan nonetheless, and the broad smile on his thin lips complimented his handsome features.  
  
"Really? Is it already time for class?" Tom's surprised words filled Harry's ears, and he ducked his head so that no one would notice him gawking at the professor. "I thought I had a few more minutes to talk to Harry."  
  
"Ah, the infamous Harry Mason!" There was the suggestion of a chuckle in Snape's good-natured tone. "The headmaster has been warning us about you. I'm Professor Snape."  
  
Harry felt his lips curving into a half-hearted smirk at the professor's words as he glanced at the altered man. "Well, sir, I'm /not/ that bad unless I don't like you," he informed Snape, his tone as innocent as he could manage.  
  
Snape laughed quietly and then extended his hand. "I'll have to remember that, Harry."  
  
The professor's hand was surprisingly soft, and Harry found himself grinning without any force at the gesture. "Please do, sir." He raised an eyebrow in Bill's direction, feigning bemusement. "I'm assuming you're a Weasley? I can't remember your name, though Ron mentioned it."  
  
"I'm Bill Weasley." The oldest of the Weasley brood's hand was just as firm and soft as Snape's when Harry discovered himself in another grip. "You've already met Ron? Enthusiastic bugger, isn't he?"  
  
"Definitely," the Boy Who Lived agreed, a grin on his face. "I don't think I'll be able to keep track of all the names he kept going on about." That was a total lie, but hey, Bill and Snape didn't have to know that.  
  
"He told you about the relationships, right?" Snape's mild inquiry caught him off-guard, and the brunet felt his face warm as all the blood rushed to his head.  
  
"Yeah, you know Ron, Severus." Harry turned a grateful smile upon Tom as the former attempted to force the blood from his burning cheeks. "He'll ramble on and on about true love if you get him going."  
  
"Yes, I know Ron," Bill agreed with a chuckle, draping an arm around Snape's neck and grinning at the two students. "I hope you don't mind, Harry."  
  
"Somehow, I get the feeling I'll have to get used to it," commented the Potter, deadpan.  
  
The two adults laughed, and Tom grinned. "Well, it was nice talking to you, Harry. I'll come and visit you between classes, if you'd like. Maybe that'll keep you from killing Madam Pomfrey."  
  
"I'm not promising anything," Harry declared, frowning a little. "If that woman tries to drug me /one/ more time...." He ignored Bill and Snape's raised eyebrows.  
  
Tom looked amused, and shook his head. "Just as long as it's in self- defense, I suppose," he stated before turning towards the two adults. "Are we learning anything interesting?" Even as he spoke, the brunet climbed from the bed, revealing that he'd been fully dressed.  
  
Intense green eyes watched the trio as they exited the infirmary, chatting about an unfamiliar potion, and left him all alone in the Hospital Wing. Biting back a sigh, Harry attempted to relax. Well, at least he wasn't going to be thrown into a class today. He didn't think he could handle anything academics-wise.  
  
The boy suddenly frowned. Wait, would he have to do the whole bloody Sorting over again in front of /everyone/? He shuddered a little, wondering what this universe's Sorting Hat would think of him. Somehow, he didn't feel he wanted to know.  
  
Hauling himself to his feet, Harry glanced around. Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. Well, that meant he could wander around, didn't it. Smirking slightly, the brunet proceeded to stroll out of the Hospital Wing. Bill, Snape, and Tom were nowhere in sight, and he began to whistle to himself as he sauntered down the hall.  
  
Everyone would be in their various classes, he assured himself, letting his wand dangle at his side. No one would see him wandering around in his Muggle clothing. And even if a random student popped up, he figured he could wiggle out of trouble. After all, Pomfrey /never/ said he couldn't leave the Hospital Wing.  
  
Harry knew there was a smug look on his face as he sauntered down the hallway, but he couldn't help it. This world's Pomfrey annoyed him to no end, and it was fun to sneak out under her watch. Whistling a random tune, he turned the corner—  
  
—and slammed into a large, warm shape. With a startled oath, Harry stumbled backwards, barely managing to catch himself in time. As it was, his wand clattered to the ground. Ignoring the man he'd just bumped into, he glared down at his wand. "I really need to get my reflexes back," the Boy Who Lived muttered even while he knelt and snatched the smooth wand from the floor.  
  
"May we assume that you're Harry Mason?" Harry froze. The rich, drawling tenor could belong to no one else but Mr. Malfoy, which meant that his father was somewhere close by.  
  
'This world's James Potter doesn't have a son!' he reminded himself silently even while he put on a complacent smirk and raised his gaze to meet pale gray. "Since I'm probably the only one here wearing Muggle clothing, I would hope you'd guess I'm Harry Mason, Mr. Malfoy."  
  
Lucius Malfoy smiled back, looking amused. He was unchanged for the most part, although the aura around him had shifted from unapproachable to pleasant. The harshness had faded from his handsome face. "You've met my son then?" A hint of pride colored his words, and a foreign chuckle filled the air.  
  
"Lucius, you'd describe your son's attributes to a Boggart!" Harry's breath caught in his throat, and he turned his head slowly towards the other man, who he hadn't seen earlier.  
  
"Really, James, I wouldn't go that far. Besides, you show Tom off every chance you get," the blonde sniffed at his lover, a faint smile curving his lips.  
  
"Too true," admitted the Potter with a loud, mirth-filled laugh that made the Boy Who Lived want to rush forward and fling his arms around his fellow brunet. This was the man he had seen in the Mirror of Erised, with his glasses sliding down his nose. Sepia eyes rested upon the younger Potter even while Harry fought down the temptation. "Have you met Tom and Draco?"  
  
"Well, this one guy—Ron—he pointed Draco out in a crowd, and I chatted with Tom for a while when I woke up from another one of Pomfrey's damned drugging," the brunet explained, shrugging a little. "You look a lot like Tom, sir, and Mr. Malfoy looks like an older clone of M-Draco."  
  
"Clone?" Lucius' tone was pleasant, if bewildered.  
  
"A Muggle term, which means you look exactly like your son," James explained, chuckling once more. "Really, Lucius, you need to learn Muggle sayings. It will help you out some day."  
  
The blonde rolled his eyes and draped an arm across the other man's shoulders. "I'll do that later...." As the insincere mutter trailed off, Harry smirked. Well, he couldn't blame the Malfoy. Muggle sayings were a bit bizarre.  
  
Twirling his wand between his fingers, he decided to make his escape. "Well, if you all don't mind, I'm going to investigate the rest of Hogwarts," he drawled, smirking slightly at the duo.  
  
James arched an eyebrow, still looking entertained. Harry fought against the lump that had appeared suddenly in his throat, and forced the smirk to remain on his visage. "Does Pomfrey know you're out of the Wing?"  
  
"No, and I hope that bitch has a heart attack when she finds out about it." Harry blinked, wondering at the bitterness that coated his words. Both adults looked slightly taken aback as well. "Er, sorry. She keeps drugging my bloody food...."  
  
Lucius' face cleared and he smiled. "Oh yes, I heard about that. We came into the infirmary right after Poppy drugged you again."  
  
"Ron wasn't amused," James added thoughtfully. "I think you're one of the only people who will listen to him when he rants." The blonde beside him nodded in agreement.  
  
"Well, he only ranted about true love, but the rest of the time he was just pointing out-" Damn him and his pale skin! He knew the warmth underneath his skin was turning his face bright red. "-relationships."  
  
"Yes, well, you're going to have to get used to that, I'm afraid." James pulled Lucius closer, even while he offered Harry a sympathetic look.  
  
Before the blushing Boy Who Lived could reply, Lucius abruptly beamed. The difference that made between the two universe's Malfoy Seniors was so startling that the brunet was speechless. "Hey, here comes someone who can show you around, Harry." The footfalls of someone coming up behind him met his ears, but he was too stunned by Lucius' words to turn towards the newcomer.  
  
"Um, thank you, sir." The brunet couldn't help the note of surprise that slipped into his voice. Lucius calling him by his first name had thrown him for a loop.  
  
"Please, call me Lucius. Everyone does, except for Draco." For the third time this morning, Harry found himself shaking hands. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."  
  
"It's nice to meet you too, s-Lucius."  
  
"My turn!" James declared, chuckling once more (Harry had a feeling that this universe's James laughed often) as he extended his hand. The Boy Who Lived shook the brunet's hand, this time unable to fight the lump in his throat. This was his father's hand, warm and real, in his own. A prickling sensation in his eyes made him aware that he was near tears. He fought them almost savagely. "Call me James, Harry."  
  
"O-Okay." The footfalls stopped, and Harry turned to see who would be showing him around the school.  
  
If he had thought his heart had skipped a beat when he had heard his father's voice, it was nothing compared to the way his heart fell silent in his chest. A startled gasp escaped his lips, taking away all his oxygen. Yet he couldn't think to breathe, and instead stared in a mixture of wonder and astonishment at the young man who stood before him.  
  
// "Want me to haunt her?" Cedric offered, making Harry laugh. "Of course, it wouldn't be much of a haunting since-" //  
  
"I say, are you all right?" The startled tone was as warm as ever, and Cedric Diggory's brilliant gray eyes revealed his automatic concern.  
  
"I-I-I turned around too fast," Harry muttered before his knees gave out from under him and he began to crumple to the floor. Immediately, strong hands seized him and held him steady.  
  
"Perhaps you /should/ go back to the Hospital Wing," he heard Lucius declare, anxiety coloring the blonde's tone.  
  
Harry closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath. He'd have words with Dumbledore about this. "I'm fine," he mumbled, shaking himself free of the supporting hands. He tightened his grip on his wand, not daring to glance at this world's Cedric. Even if the ghostly Cedric had chatted with him about the fun of being dead, the sensation of a live carbon copy rattled him to the core.  
  
"Are you sure?" Now it was James who spoke, worry dripping from every syllable. "We can take you back if you'd like."  
  
"I'm /fine/," Harry bit out, irritation surging through his veins. "Please, just leave me be!" With that, he turned and stormed past James and Lucius, ignoring the desperate longing that welled within him to chat with the father he had never known.  
  
His anger made him stalk furiously down the hallway and through the myriad of corridors. Blind to anything but Dumbledore's secrecy, the furious boy stormed through the corridors, ignorant of the fact that several students noticed him as he paced by their opened door.  
  
When his anger finally subsided, Harry blinked and glanced around. It took a moment for him to realize where he was. He was by the Quidditch field, near the steps that would lead him up into the Stands.  
  
Shrugging to himself, he climbed the steps. Collapsing into a front row seat, he glared around at the field. This wasn't his field. That James wasn't his father. His friends weren't even his friends! He wanted to go back home, even if everyone was so happy and content with their lovers.  
  
Burying his face in his hands for a moment, the Boy Who Lived took in another deep breath. Once he was really calm, he'd find Dumbledore and ask him why the hell he hadn't bothered to mention that Cedric Diggory was alive.  
  
Of course, he chided himself, he should have figured that out by himself. After all, Tom obviously hadn't participated in a Triwizard Tournament, so there had been no reason for the Dark Lord of this world to 'kill the spare.' Harry wondered if that meant Neville's parents were sane in this universe. The thought cheered him slightly. It would explain why Neville looked so much more confident here.  
  
The Potter gazed out at the field, not really seeing it as he mused, his anger gradually cooling. What other differences could there be? This world was so odd, he couldn't get used to it. He hoped he didn't have to..  
  
The idea of being trapped here, stuck with people that he knew intimately and yet they didn't know him at all, made him shudder. Brushing that horrible thought away, he wondered if Cedric was with Cho Chang in this universe too.  
  
"Mr. Mason?" The quiet call made him twitch and he turned quickly towards the speaker. As soon as he realized who it was, however, Harry scowled.  
  
"Hello, Headmaster. Have you come to tell me about anyone else that I know as dead but is actually alive?"  
  
(To be continued) 


	8. Chapter Seven

(Author's Thanks: Michelle, Myk, sara, Classical-Storyteller, Lady Phoenix Gryffindor, Ice Lupus, Akurei, JerseyPike, taligator, lil kawaii demon, Cat15, madam-malicia, Akemi-san, and mich for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay, but after so many reviews, I had to update! *grins* Harry was being temperamental. *giggles* Two more pairings revealed in this chapter. *pets poor Harry*  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
"You've met Cedric then?" As Harry answered with a glare, Dumbledore settled himself down on the bench and smiled slightly. "I realize that I should have told you sooner, but Cedric wasn't due back from his unexpected trip for another day. I thought that too much information would be overwhelming. I apologize."  
  
"So-so he's alive and happy in this world?" Harry decided he'd ask about Cedric's sudden excursion another time, when he wasn't feeling so nauseous. "Is he with Cho Chang?"  
  
For a moment, Dumbledore looked almost amused before the twinkling light dimmed and a serious expression replaced any mirth. "Harry, I can assure you that he is not with Ms. Cho Chang. She is currently involved with a Mr. Davies, I believe."  
  
"Oh.." Harry absorbed that for a moment before raking a hand through his tousled locks and mussing them even more. "Why are my fat—I mean, James Potter and Lucius Malfoy—at Hogwarts anyway? They can't be professors."  
  
Dumbledore looked quite grim as he resettled his half-moon spectacles upon his nose. Clearing his throat, the headmaster explained, "Well, because of the threat of Ragimara, I built an underground city. James, Lucius, and many others live there." He paused for a moment, and then added with a somewhat lighter tone and a slight sparkle to his gaze, "Molly forced me to transport the Burrow to the Secreted City."  
  
Harry couldn't help but laugh at that. That sounded like the Molly Weasley he remembered. "How about Professor Lupin and Sirius?" he asked, realizing that Dumbledore hadn't mentioned them. For a moment, he was almost terrified that the white-haired wizard would tell him that they'd been killed by Ragimara as well. Sudden fear made his heart pound, and he swallowed back of a lump of terror as he watched the old man intently.  
  
"They both live in the Secreted City, but at the moment they are on special missions for me, as is Hagrid." Dumbledore gave him a thoughtful look. "Remus and Sirius are together in this universe."  
  
The words didn't quite register in his brain for two, three, four seconds, and so Harry stared for a moment, his face one of utter blankness, before he reacted. Emerald eyes widened with utmost shock, and his mouth formed a perfect 'o' before he tried to object to this new piece of information.  
  
"Blimey! What's with this universe? Everywhere I turn, there are relationships that would never be possible in mine!" he cried out in frustration, waving his hands wildly. Remus and Sirius—the very idea of it! Astonishment made his heartbeat quicken, and he buried his head in his hands for a moment, trying to calm down. "Is there something in the bloody water?"  
  
"Not that I'm aware of. Harry, are there no relationships like Remus and Sirius in your reality?" Dumbledore sounded half-curious, half- entertained.  
  
"No!" The denial escaped his lips before Harry actually thought about it. He lifted his head from his hands to look wearily towards the headmaster. He opened his mouth, and the words seemed to tumble out on their own free will, arguing against every relationship in this universe that he knew about. "Well, none that I know of. I think Ron likes Hermione, and Fred was dating Angelina Johnson, last time I checked. As far as I know, Bill and Snape barely know each other. George and Lee are /friends/. Neville likes Ginny, Ginny likes me, I like Cho Chang, she liked Cedric-" He faltered and sighed for a moment. "Professor Lupin and Sirius are just friends. My dad's dead, but he and Malfoy seemed to hate each other. Draco Malfoy would kill himself before being in a relationship with a Gryffindor, especially Seamus. Justin and Dean barely know each other, as far as I know, and Seamus likes Parvati!" He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself.  
  
"And Percy and Oliver are just friends as well?" Dumbledore finished gently.  
  
"Percy is still dating Penelope, I think-" Harry stopped dead, and simply stared, the blood roaring in his ears. "Percy and-and /Oliver/?" When the headmaster's eyes merely twinkled, the brunet groaned. "Are you sure there isn't something in the water?"  
  
"I believe I would have been informed if there was anything in the water, Harry," commented Dumbledore, rising and shifting his robes. He then arched an eyebrow. "Now, I believe you were supposed to be in the infirmary?"  
  
Harry heaved a sigh, fighting the irritation that welled up at the mention of the witch. Despite his inward struggle, a scowl formed on his chapped lips. "I don't like Pomfrey. She keeps drugging me," he informed the headmaster, knowing that he was whining but not really caring. Maybe he should skip any water and just drink pumpkin juice from now on...  
  
"She's only doing what's best for you," the headmaster reminded him, earning an annoyed scowl.  
  
"Yes, well, I don't care if it's best for me. I don't like being drugged, and I'm not going to stay in the infirmary for the rest of the day if she keeps insisting on doing so!"  
  
"Very well, I'll speak to Poppy about refraining from using sleeping potions on you unless you request them."  
  
"Which I won't," the boy grumbled, scowling a little. He wanted to see his parents, and maybe even Cedric again, and he wouldn't be able to if he was under the influence of a sleeping potion. "Do I /have/ to go back to the infirmary?"  
  
"I'm afraid so." Dumbledore sounded a little apologetic, and his expression was one of understanding. "We can't have you wandering through the school while everyone is in class."  
  
It was only then that Harry remembered something that he'd been worrying about earlier. "Sir, am I going to have to be Sorted all over again tomorrow in front of /everyone/?" He was a little surprised at his anxious tone, but gazed at Dumbledore steadily.  
  
The headmaster smiled a little at that, his blue eyes kind. "Well, we can't just announce you should be in Gryffindor. It would seem a little unusual, and someone might get suspicious."  
  
"Right," sighed the boy, running a hand through his messy locks. Bloody hell, he wished he could just go home! It would be such a /joy/ to have this dimension's Sorting Hat tell him to choose between Slytherin and Gryffindor once more.... The sarcasm was so thick within his thoughts that a dull ache began right between his eyes. "In front of everyone."  
  
"I'm afraid so. Don't worry, Harry; I'm making every effort to get you back to where you belong."  
  
"Well, that's a bright spot in an otherwise horrid day," Harry muttered, and immediately felt guilty after saying so.  
  
Some of the day hadn't been /bad/. He'd had an interesting chat with the spirit of Cedric, a nice discussion with Tom Riddle, and meeting this universe's Bill Weasley, Severus Snape, James Potter and Lucius Malfoy had been interesting, to say the least.  
  
"Would you like me to escort you back to the infirmary?" The brunet blinked and realized that Dumbledore was watching him with an odd gleam in his pale gaze. The gleam nudged at a suspicion that was vaguely being formed in the farthest corner of his mind, and Harry raised a hand to rub at the ache between his eyes before he responded.  
  
"I think I'll stay here for a few more minutes, sir, and then head in myself. I haven't been out in the sun for a while." Well, that was only half-true. This was the first time, except perhaps when he'd arrived at this Hogwarts, in a while that he'd been outdoors without any chores that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had pressed upon him.  
  
Nodding, the headmaster stood, the unnamed glimmer in those orbs fading with the movement. "Did you have any more questions you were wondering about?" Dumbledore's tone was mild.  
  
"Well, I-" The Potter hesitated. Should he tell the headmaster about speaking to his world's Cedric and tell Dumbledore all about Elysium and the other universes? Somehow, he rather thought the Diggory ghost had only told him so that he wouldn't starve himself to death..  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I-I was just wondering if anything's happened to Neville's parents here. He just seems so different. Much more confident, at least." It hadn't been what he'd been about to ask, and they both knew it, but Dumbledore ignored the topic change.  
  
"Neville's parents are both respected Aurors and are as sane as anyone else is in the magical world," the white-haired wizard stated, smiling a little before nodding once more. "I'll see you later, Harry."  
  
The brunet watched the headmaster depart, leaving him to his thoughts. Harry reclined for a moment, sighing and trying to get the dull throbbing in his head to stop pounding away at his skull. It hurt, and the nausea that had always come while he had thought of Cedric's death was coming back for another reason entirely. Why did he get the feeling that this universe was going to break him?  
  
Placing a damp hand against his forehead in a vain attempt to fight pressure with pressure, Harry shoved the ominous thoughts away to the farthest reaches of his mind. It seemed lack of sleep made him paranoid. How could anything in this universe break him? Sure, it hurt to see everyone he knew and loved as very different people, but he wouldn't shatter because of that hurt....  
  
He'd be fine. He'd ignore the lump in his throat every time he went near this universe's James Potter. He'd pretend that it didn't make tears prickle in his eyes at the thought that this place's Hermione had never scolded him for not doing his homework or Ron had never thoroughly massacred him at wizard's chess....  
  
Harry sighed. He was being such a whiny brat, wasn't he? Well, he was going to enjoy his time in this universe! After all, he could be a completely different person here. The brunet could be a complete ass and no one would care enough about him to rein him in. He could have fun..  
  
A slight smirk formed on his lips as the migraine gradually eased and the aching faded away. Yes, he would have fun tomorrow at the Sorting. It was going to be quite entertaining to show Hogwarts what Harry Mason was really like.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Harry idly watched Madam Pomfrey fuss with a blanket and then checked his hair in a mirror. As untamed as always. Ignoring the fact that his face was still ashen and had an aura of withheld weariness, he smirked at his mirror image. "Let's shock the crowd, my good fellow."  
  
Dumbledore had given him a spare set of robes since he was penniless in this universe. The black robe was a little short on him, but he didn't care. After all, Harry Mason didn't care about his clothing. He was more interested in causing trouble. The smirk not fading from his lips, he turned to find Madam Pomfrey staring at him with a suspicious look on her face.  
  
His smirk shifting to a smile of innocence, Harry glanced away from her, grateful to be out of the infirmary at last. Now he could eat with the other students and try to catch up on his studies and not have to worry about being drugged. He only hoped that he wasn't too far behind.  
  
"Harry?" Turning on instinct at the call of his name, the brunet felt a familiar pang of inescapable grief at the sight of those recognizable cerulean depths. "Headmaster Dumbledore said that we could take you to the Great Hall."  
  
"And if we don't hurry up, we're going to be late," Hermione sniffed from behind her best friend, ignoring his light scowl. "Stop that, Ron; you're the one who thought he could finish a game of wizard's chess against Colin before breakfast."  
  
"Come on. Let's go before Professor McGonagall can scold us for being late." It would take Harry a while to get used to hearing that unfamiliar voice speak so candidly to Hermione and Ron. As it was, he offered Tom Riddle a quick smile, knowing that the other boy had tried to cut the argument off at the beginning. How many times had the Potter attempted that?  
  
"She wouldn't have to if Ron hadn't-" Even as the prefect began to object, Tom ushered them all from the room, leaving Madam Pomfrey to her duties.  
  
Harry ignored Hermione's loud scolding and Ron's darkening scowl, although he offered a sympathetic grin towards the Riddle. The other brunet grinned back, looking both sheepish and amused. 'Well, I tried,' his verdure gaze seemed to say.  
  
The quartet entered the Great Hall, and for a moment Harry was unnerved as the room fell silent. He didn't want everyone's eyes upon him, damn it. He wanted to be anonymous. Well, at the very least renowned for something he had actually accomplished, not because of the scar on his forehead. Offering the crowd a bland smile, Harry whispered to Tom, "I take Hogwarts doesn't see many new students a few weeks into the school year?"  
  
"You're the only one, as far as I know," Tom murmured back, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Don't worry though. Everyone will accept you soon enough."  
  
Unable to keep from reacting to the stares, Harry's smile twisted into a smirk, and he offered the students a languid wave of his hand. "Acceptance is the least of my concerns," he commented in a low undertone, earning a startled look from his companions.  
  
Tom, Ron, or Hermione might have commented at the odd remark had Dumbledore not risen at that moment, smiling out at the hushed group. "As most of you probably know, we have a student transferring from Durmstrang. His name is Harry Mason, and I hope you all make him feel welcome." The white-haired wizard turned to McGonagall, and it was only then that Harry noticed the Sorting Hat in her hands.  
  
Less than a minute later, Harry was settled upon a stool in front of the curious students, the Sorting Hat encompassing most of his head. There was a low chuckle in his ear, and then the magical object spoke. 'Well, well, well, this is certainly an interesting case, Potter. Another whole dimension with endless possibilities. I see that you've already made a decision towards the beginning of that potential. I suppose you know what House you'd prefer?'  
  
Harry automatically nodded, feeling a pleased grin form on his lips. That full-out grin probably confused the students sitting closest to the stool, but the brunet didn't care. He was going to have fun in the universe!  
  
'Very well.' The Sorting Hat seemed amused for a second, before its entire demeanor suddenly changed. 'Have your fun while you can, Potter. And remember one thing. Just because someone chooses one path does not mean that another person has to. Now, go and sit at SLYTHERIN.'  
  
While the House was shouted out to the Hogwarts denizens, Harry carefully took the Sorting Hat off and regarded it thoughtfully. What had it meant by that warning? It made that warning ache begin in his forehead once more.  
  
Fighting back an inward sigh, Harry squared his shoulders, handed the Sorting Hat to McGonagall, and sauntered over to the Slytherin table. It was time to make himself at home as Harry Mason, the newest Slytherin of Hogwarts School of Witch Craft and Wizardry.  
  
(To be continued) 


	9. Chapter Eight

(Author's Thanks: ShadowHunter1, RainSW6, White Rider, Elena, npetrenko, Amirathis, scarface, aWsa, vlaf, SilveredDeath, Bakajin, W.Kathy, Prongsblacks, and HarrySlytherin*son for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
Author's Notes: I apologize profusely for the delay. All of the characters run out of my heart for a couple of months due to the extreme stress of my junior year. I promise I won't take this long for the next chapter.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
"So, you're the infamous Harry Mason," was drawled as the brunet sat down among his fellow Slytherin, well aware of the curious gazes still lingering upon him from the various tables. He wondered what his Gryffindor friends thought of him now. He wondered if Tom thought of him any less.  
  
Harry couldn't help but smirk a little at the comment from the other Slytherin. "You know, you're the second person to greet me like that. My reputation is really paving the way for me." He extended a hand towards the blonde, experiencing a feeling of déjà vu. Hadn't the other boy offered him his hand on the train their first year? "You must be Draco Malfoy. You're the splitting image of your father."  
  
Draco flushed a bit with pride at that, eagerly shaking the offered hand. There were no attempts to impress, no sniggering from Ron about the blonde's name to incur his wrath, just a pleased smile and an enthusiastic handshake "You've met my father?"  
  
"Yes. Of course, most of the conversation concerned you and if I'd met you." Harry let a teasing quality coat his words, and he smiled a bit to show he was only joking.  
  
Suddenly a harsh voice interrupted them, the sounds grating on the brunet's ears. "That's Malfoy's father all right, doting on his precious son. Did you see his /lover/?" The final word dripped with derision.  
  
While splotches of red appeared on Draco's cheeks, Harry raised an eyebrow towards Pansy Parkinson and drawled, "You mean Mr. Potter? Why yes, yes I did." His green gaze flickered between Pansy and Draco curiously, and the Potter teenager gradually realized something.  
  
In this universe, Draco was not the ringleader of the Slytherin. It seemed to Pansy who had that title, judging by the fact that Crabbe and Goyle flanked her.  
  
Pansy sneered, her pug-face contorting for a moment. "Well, just to warn you, Harry Mason, we of Slytherin don't appreciate that sort of immoral behavior." She shot a nasty look towards Draco, who visibly paled.  
  
The brunet arched both of his eyebrows at that, and said a slow, "I see...." Then, without further ado, he turned back to the blonde and said cheerfully, "So, what class do we have first? Damn if I don't have a lot of work to catch up on!"  
  
Draco smiled, hesitantly at first, as if he thought the other boy was taunting him, and then a true smile blossomed on his porcelain features. "You're in luck, actually. It's Tuesday, so we have the best class—Professor Snape."  
  
"Who's also a disgrace to Salazar Slytherin," Pansy cut in. Her grating tone was beginning to get on Harry's nerves. "Not to mention that's one of our classes with the Gryffindor gaggle."  
  
"My, my, my. If so many people are disgraces to Salazar Slytherin, there must be something in the water," Harry remarked in a sardonic tone, casting a scathing glance towards the girl. "And I believe I was speaking to Draco, not you...."  
  
"I'm Pansy. Pansy Parkinson." Her voice lowered as her eyes narrowed in a threatening way. "Be careful the way you speak to me, Mason. I can make your life miserable."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, not at all impressed by the warning. He leaned closer to her, ignoring the way Crabbe and Goyle tensed, and felt a cold smirk curve his lips. "You know what, Parkinson? In a fair duel, I could kill you without even trying." He paused, to let that sink into her small brain, and then added in an almost pleasant tone, "Try to remember that the next time you threaten me."  
  
From the corner of Harry's eye, he noticed Draco staring at him in a mixture of astonishment and apprehension. The splotches had faded from his cheeks, but the blonde still looked a little embarrassed.  
  
"Is that a threat, Mason?"  
  
"Just a promise," Harry informed her cheerfully before casually taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. He let the cool liquid linger on his tongue before he swallowed it and felt it slide down his throat. "I must say that Hogwarts has much better food than Durmstrang."  
  
"Really?" Draco said with surprise. "How so?"  
  
"Just more options," Harry said calmly even as he decided not to mention too much about Durmstrang. After all, someone could catch him in a lie, easily. "So Professor Snape is a good teacher then, even if he seems to be a disgrace?"  
  
"He teaches us things we need to know to survive," a quiet voice concluded, and Harry glanced up, his brow knitting in puzzlement at the unfamiliar Italian who watched him with intense dark brown eyes.  
  
"Did we tell you that you were allowed to speak, Blaise?" Pansy snarled, glaring at the Italian, who offered her a polite glance but nothing more.  
  
"He was answering my question, so in essence I did give him permission to speak since he knew the answer," Harry commented, glancing curiously at this world's Blaise Zabini.  
  
The Italian seemed unconcerned that he had caused any tension, simply nodding and going back to eating his meal. His dark brown gaze glittered gold as light struck it, but otherwise there was no flicker of disquiet in his eyes. Strands of sable caressed his cheeks, and he absently brushed the annoying locks away from his olive flesh.  
  
In Harry's universe, Blaise had been one of the Slytherin who didn't seem to particularly care for anyone at all. During their classes together, he had never spoken for or against Harry. Then again, he had also never spoken for or against Malfoy. Come to think of it, Blaise Zabini had always been a bit of a mystery to the Potter boy and probably the rest of the school.  
  
"So, what class do we have after Potions?"  
  
Draco thought for a moment. "Transfigurations with Professor McGonagall. She's strict and has favorites, but you'll learn a lot in her class."  
  
"Mr. Mason?" The pleasant voice could be no other than Dumbledore, and Harry turned in his seat to look questioningly towards the headmaster. "Before you go to Potions, I need you to make a decision on what your classes will be. Naturally, you'll have Potions, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations, Charms, and Herbology. Simply let me know what two other classes you'd like to be in." With a nod and a smile, the white-haired wizard headed off to chat with a Hufflepuff.  
  
Harry blinked. He hadn't even thought of his two extra classes. He turned and raised an eyebrow towards Draco. "What classes would you suggest?"  
  
"Well, I'm in Astrology and Care of Magical Creatures," the blonde informed him, smiling a little. "Hagrid is a really good teacher. Unfortunately, he's not here right now. Some old woman is doing his job right now."  
  
"Oh?" Harry couldn't help the startled note that entered his tone. Hagrid was actually a good teacher here? As much as he adored the gentle giant back in his universe, Hagrid wasn't a good teacher.  
  
Draco smiled a little. "Yeah, our teachers are good at vanishing at odd moments. You'd probably like him and the class though."  
  
"I'll take that one then," Harry decided. "What other choices are there? I don't think I'd enjoy going up into a tower and staring at the stars in the middle of the night...."  
  
"Well, what classes did you take at Durmstrang?" Draco asked, wearing a pleasant smile. It was still so odd how pleasant the blonde could be. The lack of rancor still disconcerted the brunet.  
  
"Boring ones," he said simply, earning an amused look. "Are there any other interesting classes?"  
  
"Well... There's Divination, but—" The blonde's words were cut off by a hearty chuckle and a Irish lad wrapped his arms around his neck. "Oh, hey Seamus." There was a soft note to Draco's words as he smiled at his boyfriend.  
  
"Hello, love. I wanted to see if you'd walk to Potions with me." Seamus grinned from ear to ear, his grayish-green eyes dancing. He cast a glance towards Harry, and offered him a friendly grin. "And your new friend too, of course."  
  
"Of course, as long as you don't mind waiting with me while Harry goes and tells Dumbledore what his two extra classes are," Draco said, his gray eyes filled with amusement at his lover's antics.  
  
"That's fine! What classes are you going to take?" With his arms still wrapped around his boyfriend's neck, Seamus grinned cheerfully at the newcomer.  
  
It was such a familiar grin.... It took a moment for Harry to swallow and get rid of the lump in his throat so that he could respond. "I was thinking of Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, actually." He figured that Divination would be easy, if boring, and that Care of Magical Creatures should prove interesting in this universe.  
  
"Really? You'll be in a class with me and the other Gryffindor then." The Irish boy chuckled, seemingly ignoring the venomous looks Pansy kept focusing upon him. "We Gryffindor have to put up with you filthy Slytherin in Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, Astrology, and Defense Against the Dark Arts."  
  
"Hey, no being rude to the new Slytherin on his first day here, Seamus," Draco mildly chided the Gryffindor, although he had an amused smile on his lips.  
  
Seamus attempted to look innocent. "Really, Draco, I meant filthy in the nicest possible way...." He winked at Harry before adding, "Besides, the majority of the Slytherin House take showers twice a week or so." He unwrapped his arms around Draco's neck and chuckled when the blonde laughed and took a swipe at him.  
  
The brunet watched the two tease each other, finding the entire scene almost surreal. It was amazing.... A Gryffindor and a Slytherin, in love. Then again, from what he'd learned so far, it didn't seem that big of deal here. There were so many of that pairing. James and Lucius, Bill and Severus, Draco and Seamus.... Once again he found himself wondering if any of these relationships would ever be possible in his universe, and firmly decided otherwise.  
  
All too soon, the breakfast was over, and Harry was pleased to note that he hadn't felt nauseous at all. That chat with Cedric had really done the trick! He had cleaned off his plate and finished two goblets of pumpkin juice. Of course, the brunet was beginning to suspect that he'd eaten a bit too much, but he figured he could survive a bit of an upset stomach.  
  
"Just let me go talk to the headmaster, and then you both can show me the way to Potions," Harry said, rising to his feet and patting his stomach.  
  
"I hope you like the dungeons!" was Seamus' cheerful response, and the brunet rolled his eyes before heading over to the teacher's table. He walked over to where Dumbledore was socializing with Professor Flitwick, and then waited for the headmaster to finish the conversation.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Mason. Have you made a decision then?" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as Flitwick hurried away.  
  
"Yes, sir. I'll be sticking with Care of Magical Creatures and Divination," Harry informed him, smirking a little when one of the first- year Ravenclaw dared to glance over curiously at him before blushing and racing from the room.  
  
Dumbledore frowned a little, an odd look of concern on his face. "Are you certain about Divination, Harry?" he asked quietly, his voice lowering a little.  
  
Harry offered him a quizzical smile, wondering at the trepidation. "Of course. I figure Trelawney won't be too boring," he replied, running a hand through his messy locks.  
  
"No, no, she won't be, but—"  
  
"With all due respect, Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry's going to be late to Potions if we don't hurry off to the glorious dungeons!" Seamus seemed to be even better at butting in in this universe than he was in Harry's universe.  
  
Dumbledore frowned a little, his intense blue eyes lingering on Harry. "Just a moment, Seamus. Harry, are you sure you want to take Divination? Professor Trelawney is a very unique woman."  
  
"I've heard she is," Harry said in an off-hand manner. "I'll speak to you later, Headmaster." He turned to Seamus and Draco, who were watching the exchange with vague looks of bewilderment. "So, how damp /are/ the dungeons anyway?"  
  
He was aware of Dumbledore's eyes following him from the Great Hall, but he didn't think anything of it. After all, he could deal with a batty Trelawney! At least now she wouldn't bemoan his death every lesson.... Hmm, now that was an interesting thought. Harry wondered who was the honorary 'doomed one' in this universe. Oh well, he supposed he would find out.  
  
"So, what was Durmstrang like?" Seamus asked, breaking the brunet from his reverie.  
  
"Thoroughly restrictive," Harry stated with a sigh. "No one had a sense of humor there. I mean, would Hogwarts teachers expel me for turning them green?"  
  
Seamus laughed at that, and Draco smiled in amusement before the blonde commented, "Well, no, but you'd certainly get a lot of detention."  
  
"Detentions are something I'm used to." The brunet was rather pleased with his glib response, and he quirked a smile towards the duo. "So, Seamus, you're Irish?"  
  
"That I am," the Gryffindor agreed cheerfully, purposely thickening his accent. "How about you? You don't look like you're from Bulgaria."  
  
"I'm not. I'm from Wales, but my parents moved out of the country when I was really young. They're architects, so we've moved around a bit," Harry explained, realizing with a pang that he knew nothing about his parents' ancestry. Where had Lily Potter been born? What had his grandparents been like?  
  
"You have a British accent though," Draco commented as they descended the stairs that would lead them closer to the Potions classroom. His gaze was keen with interest.  
  
"Like I said; we moved around a lot when I was a kid. One of the places was Britain, and I guess I picked up that accent. They settled down in Bulgaria right before I was old enough to go to school, so they decided I should go to Durmstrang." Now, if only he could keep these lies straight....  
  
Both Draco and Seamus seemed satisfied with his answers, and the Irish Gryffindor cheerily said, "It's too bad you missed the latest Quidditch match. Tom put on quite a show."  
  
"And broke a bone for his efforts, I noticed," Harry drawled. "What was the score?"  
  
"Four hundred and ten to sixty," Draco said.  
  
Harry winced at the score. "Hufflepuff was massacred."  
  
"Well, you know Gryffindor needs all the points it can get, what with Draco as the Seeker for Slytherin." Seamus gave the blonde a playful pat on the back, and Draco fairly glowed with pride. "Last year Gryffindor and Slytherin tied for the Quidditch Cup."  
  
"Tied? How the bloody hell do you manage that?"  
  
"Slytherin was going to lose, badly, and everyone was getting injured, so I caught the Snitch, and we ended up tying in the final match," Draco explained.  
  
"Oh, sort of like Viktor Krum in Ireland versus Bulgaria," Harry said, his eyes lighting up. It must have been a great match, and this universe's Draco must be a much better Quidditch player.  
  
"You were at the World Cup last year?" Seamus grinned. "That was a bloody great match."  
  
"Yeah, I saw it."  
  
Draco brushed a stray strand of whitish gold away from his face and inquired, "Are you a Quidditch fan then?"  
  
Harry opened his mouth and then his footfalls faltered as he realized that he wouldn't be playing Quidditch until he returned to his own universe. The Potter boy wouldn't have wanted to usurp Draco or Tom's position on a Quidditch team, no matter what. Struggling not to think wistfully at his Firebolt, he managed to find his voice. "I-I am, but I can't fly worth a damn." Trying to keep his voice carefree, he started walking as quickly as before.  
  
Seamus looked sympathetic. "I know how that is, mate. My best friend, Dean, he's a horrible flier. He always ends up upside down."  
  
In spite of himself, Harry's lips quirked into a smile. "Well, that's what he gets for playing football most of his life."  
  
"How'd you know Dean likes football?" Seamus asked, looking startled.  
  
Inwardly cursing at his slip-up, Harry gave a slight shrug. "Ron Weasley was pointing a bunch of people out to me while I was resting in the infirmary. He mentioned Dean liking football."  
  
"Good memory," Draco said, smiling. "Here's another thing to remember: never sit next to him during a Quidditch match. He always ends up yelling for red cards and yellow cards."  
  
Harry chuckled, relieved that he managed to hide his blunder. "I'll try to remember that." He shivered a little as a cool breeze slipped through his thin robes and raised numerous goosebumps on his flesh.  
  
Seamus raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised to see the brunet tremble. Draco, meanwhile, looked a bit sympathetic. "It does get a bit drafty down in the dungeons. Once we get to the classroom though, it won't be as bad."  
  
"That sounds good to me," Harry said, before shivering again. He was well aware that he had second-hand robes and that starving himself over the summer had left him with virtually no body fat, and hugged himself in a vain attempt to keep heat from escape his malnourished frame.  
  
Draco shot him a vaguely concerned look, but didn't comment. Instead, he simply opened a door and announced, "Well, here we are. Welcome to Potions, Harry."  
  
Still shivering a little, the brunet nevertheless smiled a bit at that, took a deep breath, and then stepped into the room where the other Gryffindor and Slytherin were preparing for class.  
  
(To be continued) 


	10. Chapter Nine

(Author's Thanks: Funness, Euryleias, Alias, Harper, and DaughterofDeath for reviewing.  
  
Disclaimers: All characters in the story belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Warnings: This story will eventually be slash. If you are against homosexual relationships, please do not read this story. Any furious rant against slash in a review will be mocked. Thank you.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, on accounts of everyone seeming to be gay, it goes like this. I figure there are 10 students in each House per year, which makes 40 students a year. If there are seven years, that makes about 280 students in the entire school. I recall a survey that said there was about 15% of the population is homosexual or bisexual. If there are 15% of Hogwarts who are, that makes about 42. Even 5% is 14 of the students. Not only that, but there /are/ straight couples in this... *points to Fred and Hermione and the two mysterious straight couples yet to be introduced* Not only that, but most of the Hogwarts group aren't gay. They're bisexual. Hope that makes sense.  
  
~Cinaed)  
  
Nest of the Phoenix  
  
By Cinaed, Born of Fire  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
The dungeon room wasn't as damp and as dreary as it had been in his universe, Harry noted. Of course, he should have expected that. After all, if this world's Snape was a cheerful fellow; it would make sense that he could make his classroom much more hospitable for his students.  
  
The Gryffindor were all sitting on the left side of the room, and Harry saw a flash of red as Ron looked up to wave at them, a boyish smile lighting up his face. Neville was sitting contentedly at his side, an amused smile on his countenance, and Hermione and Dean seemed to be engaged in an engrossing conversation. Tom was chatting with Parvati and Lavender.  
  
Seamus and Draco headed over to share a table right behind Neville and Ron, and Harry abruptly realized that he didn't have a partner. He had already alienated most of the Slytherin, judging by the scornful looks they were shooting towards him, and so he hesitated. He hadn't been without a friend since before his eleventh birthday. Even when Ron had been furious at him during the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione had been there.  
  
A friendly hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Harry looked up into Severus Snape's pleasant face. "Well, Harry, the class is simply completing a potion they began during their last lesson, so how about you come over to my desk and we'll figure out where you are in your studies?" That same blithe smile lingered on his handsome features.  
  
"That sounds like a plan to me," Harry said, before realizing that he didn't have any of the books that they'd probably had to buy over the summer. It was so /odd/ to penniless again! He fought back a blush of embarrassment as he followed Snape to his desk.  
  
Long graceful fingers picked up a piece of parchment and handed it to the teenager. "Glance over this list and see if any of these potions look familiar to you."  
  
Harry obediently skimmed the list. It was identical to the one he'd been given at the end of his fourth year. "I was supposed to study half of these for my Potions class," he said after a moment, handing it back to the professor. Not true, but he'd only gotten about halfway through the list before he'd switched universes.  
  
"Well, I simply had everyone write a list of the ingredients and uses of each potion on this list. You can copy off one of your housemates," Snape explained mildly.  
  
"I'd rather just do the assignment on my own, sir. Oh, and um, sir? I had my trunk with all my books shipped from Durmstrang, but I don't think they've arrived yet," Harry explained, mentally reminding himself to tell Dumbledore about that lie. "Should I simply use someone's book until the trunk gets here?"  
  
"That sounds like an excellent plan." Snape smiled warmly, and the brunet found himself smiling back. Perhaps he should start calling this Snape Severus in his head. After all, the man was very nice, seemingly an exact opposite of his parallel universe personality. "For this class, how about you borrow Draco's book and start working on this list?"  
  
Harry accepted the parchment for the second time, and this time kept his grip on it, nodding a little and walking over to where Draco and Seamus were eyeing a lime-green potion.  
  
"I think it's supposed to be sky blue," Seamus commented softly, before Harry gave a quiet cough to get their attention.  
  
"Draco, do you think I could borrow your book during this class? My books haven't arrived from Durmstrang yet." Harry kept his voice polite.  
  
"Of course." Draco reached into his bag and handed him a forest green book with golden writing that seemed to be written by ivy branches. It was not at all like the black tomes that Snape had always made them read.  
  
"Thank you." Dumbledore had given him some parchment and a few quills to write with, and so Harry pulled a piece of parchment and a quill and settled down at an unused table. He began to carefully copy the needed information for potion after potion from the book.  
  
As Harry wrote with meticulous precision, he listened vaguely to the conversations that reached his ears. Seamus had engaged Tom in a discussion about the Hufflepuff/Gryffindor game, and Hermione was explaining in her intense way to Dean the purposes of the particular potion they were creating.  
  
"So you're Harry Mason. I must say, you don't look like a Slytherin," a mild voice commented, and Harry glanced up into Neville's gentle hazel eyes.  
  
He couldn't help but automatically smile at this different Neville. "Does Draco?"  
  
Neville laughed. "No, I suppose not." He offered a hand. "I'm Neville Longbottom."  
  
"Yeah, Ron pointed you out," Harry said, shaking the hand firmly and marveling at the difference having sane parents had made in this slim and tanned Neville Longbottom.  
  
"Oh, yes, he managed to get you to listen to his ranting, did he?" An amused smile curved his lips at that. "I'm afraid he tends to ramble on from time to time."  
  
"Hey!" Ron protested, overhearing them and pouting in Neville's direction.  
  
The Longbottom boy looked unrepentant, grinning at his boyfriend before glancing back towards Harry. "It's nice to meet you. I imagine you're enjoying the weather?"  
  
Harry hesitated for a moment. Durmstrang was much, much colder, wasn't it? "Well, I haven't been outside too much yet," he said, settling on a safe answer. Another draft of cool air stroked his skin, and he found himself shivering again.  
  
He noticed Neville's slightly puzzled look, and smiled sheepishly, finally remembering that Viktor had mentioned the bitter cold. "My trunk seems to have been waylaid somewhere, so I'm stuck with these robes. At least in Durmstrang I had /furred/ robes." He grinned. "Plus, I always shivered during my classes. I had to wear many, many layers of clothing every day."  
  
"I'll bet!" Neville laughed, smiling a little. "Well, if you need some nicer robes, I'm certain that Draco will let you borrow some. He has a few extra."  
  
"Thanks for telling me. Now I'll just have to sponge things off him," commented the brunet, grinning a little to show that he was only joking. He wouldn't want to impose on this world's nice Malfoy, after all. "So, anything I should be warned about for Hogwarts? I've learned from Tom that no one can keep a secret...anything else I need to know to survive?"  
  
The Longbottom boy thought for a moment, his hazel gaze pensive. "Well, I could always warn you about which professors not to anger. Would that work?"  
  
"Yes, please. I need to know how many of my stunts I can pull without being expelled," Harry said before he contorted his visage into a look of mock-innocence.  
  
Neville laughed before tilting his head and saying, "Well, you've got Transfigurations next. You shouldn't mess with Professor McGonagall; she's fair, but she also will give you three months of detention if you fool around in her class. Then you have...Herbology after lunch, right?" He paused, but Harry shrugged. "Well, Professor Sprout is a great lady. You need to listen to her about instructions, but she'll let you get away with smart aleck remarks. What do you have after that?"  
  
"Divination," Seamus said, glancing up to grin at Neville and Harry before returning to gazing worriedly at his lime-green potion, which was beginning to turn a vibrant pomegranate.  
  
The Gryffindor looked startled. "You're taking Divination? Are you sure? Trelawney is—"  
  
"-A bit batty. Yeah, I've been warned of that." Harry gave a careless shrug. "She's not cruel or anything right? No 'doomed student of the year' or anything?"  
  
"Not...exactly. She's just a bit off. I took Divination in third year, and quit after a couple weeks to take Muggle Studies instead," Neville said, still looking troubled. "You should probably take another class, Harry."  
  
What was with everyone wanting him out of Divination? The brunet couldn't help the annoyance that surged through him, and his words were a bit sharp. "I'll be fine. No batty teacher ever scared me away from a class before."  
  
Neville sighed. "If you say so. Don't say I didn't warn you. Tomorrow morning you have History of Magic with Ravenclaw. Professor Binns is a ghost, and he's so boring that you'll want to die yourself. After that, you have Defense Against Dark Arts with us Gryffindor. The teacher is Draco's dad, so—"  
  
"Wait, Mr. /Malfoy/ is the Defense Against Dark Arts professor?" Harry couldn't help but interrupt at that new piece of news. Dumbledore had said that Lucius Malfoy lived in the Secreted City!  
  
"There's no one better," Draco called over, looking momentarily like the smug blonde of Harry's universe.  
  
"Ahem." The sound came from Severus, who arched an eyebrow. He didn't have to say a word, but the order was clear: Concentrate on your work.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy is a good teacher. You'll like him. He's really fair, if a bit intense. After that, you have Charms with Hufflepuff. You'll like Flitwick. He's amusing and very good at teaching. What was your last class?" Neville had automatically lowered his voice at the implied command, the brunet noted.  
  
"Care of Magical Creatures," Harry informed him.  
  
Neville fairly beamed. "Oh, you'll love that class! Hagrid is an amazing teacher. You'll have to get him to show you the Hippogriff he keeps. Buckbeak is really nice."  
  
"I'll do that then." The brunet smiled a little. "Thanks for helping a filthy Slytherin out and telling me about the classes."  
  
"It was no problem. I like to help newcomers," Neville said modestly, although he had turned pink with pleasure beneath his golden tan. "If you have any problems, I'd be happy to help in any way that I can."  
  
"You know, Neville, if I was the jealous sort...." Ron smiled as he glanced over, winking at the two of them. "Anyway, I need you to double- check the potion. Is it supposed to be silver or a brilliant scarlet?"  
  
"Scarlet, I think," the hazel-eyed boy said, moving to peer into the cauldron with a crease of concern forming between his eyes.  
  
"Oh, good!" Seamus sounded relieved. "Draco and I were worried there for a moment since I thought it was supposed to be blue."  
  
"Come off it, Finnigan." Dean sounded amused. "You know Draco's the bloody best student in the class. If it's scarlet in your cauldron, then the potion is supposed to be scarlet."  
  
"Then again, there's always the Seamus factor," Lavender piped up, an amused note to her voice as the Irish lad flushed for a moment.  
  
"Will you all lay off me about the Seamus factor?" he said in an aggrieved tone, pouting for a moment, as Draco seemed to struggle not to smirk. "That was last year, for Merlin's sake!"  
  
"Come on, Seamus. We're going to torment you about that until we graduate," Dean commented, grinning impishly at his best friend. Well, Harry assumed they were still best friends.  
  
"Aw, man...."  
  
As Seamus groaned and Draco chuckled, Harry raised an eyebrow and commented in an undertone to Neville, "An inside joke, I take it?"  
  
"It's a long story," Neville agreed, looking amused. "Remind Draco to tell you about it sometime." As Severus rose and drew his robes around him to declare that they needed to take a test sample of their potion up to the front for a grade, the Longbottom turned back to his and Ron's cauldron. The Gryffindor immediately made a sound of dismay. "Ron, a minute ago it was scarlet! Now it's turning orange!"  
  
"I, um, used too much dragon scale, I think." The redhead's ears turned pink in embarrassment as Harry fought back the urge to snicker. Well, Ron wasn't any better at Potions here than he was in the other universe.  
  
Sometimes it was nice to have similarities between the two worlds. Finding himself shivering yet again as a draft swept through his thin robes, Harry was rather eager to escape the chilly dungeon and go to Transfigurations.  
  
As everyone rose and began to shuffle to their next class, Harry said good- bye to Neville and Ron and followed Draco out of the classroom, having to fight not to go ahead of the blonde and incur questions of how he had known his way around.  
  
"You'll have a bit of trouble navigating the hallways, I'm afraid," the Malfoy said, shooting the brunet a sympathetic look. "The stairs tend to move, and the portraits aren't much help half of the time. They're too busy gossiping to point you in the right direction."  
  
"We heard that, young man!" a portrait scolded, earning a sheepish look from the blonde and a chuckle from Harry.  
  
"Um.... Sorry." Draco grabbed Harry's arm. "Let's go to Transfigurations, shall we?" He fairly dragged the brunet the rest of the way to where Ravenclaw and the other Slytherin were milling in front of McGonagall's door.  
  
Pansy sneered when she noticed their approach, but otherwise didn't comment. She turned back to Crabbe and Goyle and murmured something softly to them, which made Harry a bit uneasy. However, he didn't have time to mull too much upon what she might be up to because McGonagall appeared at that point.  
  
She hadn't changed one bit, Harry was relieved to note. The Transfigurations professor had the same thin lips that were prone to becoming a white line of disapproval, and the same keen gaze that raked over the assembled students. When her eyes landed upon the brunet, McGonagall's lips pursed, and she snapped, "Well, everyone, go inside and take your seats! Mr. Mason, a word outside the classroom."  
  
It was only then that Harry recalled he was supposed to be a horrible troublemaker. Not only that, now he was a Slytherin. Damn, he and the Head of the Gryffindor House were going to get off to a bad start.... "Yes, ma'am?" he inquired once the other students had shuffled inside.  
  
"I have heard of your escapades at Durmstrang, Mr. Mason, and I will warn you only once. I am not above convincing Severus to expel you should you prove to be as unruly here as you did at your previous school. Do not take a single /step/ out of line." Her warning was low, and as always, cut straight to the heart of the matter.  
  
"Understood, ma'am. I was told not to do anything in your class," Harry said in the politest tone he could muster, nodding a little and resisting the urge to cringe when her scornful gaze raked over him yet again. Was this how his world's Draco felt whenever McGonagall scolded him?  
  
"And you'd best not, Mr. Mason," she warned him before giving an annoyed flick of her wrist. "Now, get into class and find a seat so that I can begin my lesson. We were doing review of last years Transfigurations, so I suspect you will know everything. If you do not, speak to me after class."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." Feeling as if he'd somehow already done something wrong, he entered the classroom. Draco was sitting next to an empty seat, so Harry walked over and sat next to him, flashing a subdued smile towards the blonde.  
  
As McGonagall marched to the front and began to crisply speak of one of the easiest Transfiguration spells they had learned last year, Harry slumped a little in his seat, a pang of homesickness striking him. He didn't want to be here.... He wanted to be surrounded by Gryffindor who knew him as Harry Potter, not the troublemaking Harry Mason! Biting back a sigh, he barely paid attention to the class, and was rather relieved when Draco poked him and murmured that it was time for lunch.  
  
"Really?" Harry blinked, dragged away from his lonesome thoughts for the moment. How had the two hours flown by? Shaking his head a little to clear it of the depressing memories of a Gryffindor group that had known him intimately, he smiled slightly towards Draco. "Well, I suppose that would explain why I'm starving...."  
  
"Right, we have lunch, and then a twenty-minute break before we have to head over to Herbology," explained the blonde, smiling warmly in response. "If you need notes on what we've been studying, just tell me. I copied off Seamus, who copied off Ron, who copied off Hermione."  
  
"Without her knowledge, I suspect," Harry said, and Draco laughed.  
  
"Definitely without her knowledge. Hermione would have killed Ron if she'd known that he was copying her answers."  
  
/That/ was the Hermione he knew. Harry felt his smile widen at the familiar image of the Granger chasing Ron around and threatening bodily harm. "I hope Dumbledore doesn't condone murder," he said in an off-hand way.  
  
"Only the murder of the Macabre, I think," Draco said simply, pronouncing the word with an attempt at a French accent making it 'ma-cob'.  
  
"The Macabre?" Harry fumbled over the word, feeling his brow knit in bewilderment.  
  
The blonde looked puzzled for a moment. "You-Know-Who's minions?"  
  
"Oh!" The brunet flushed for a moment, trying to cover up his fumble. "We call them Death Eaters in Bulgaria."  
  
"Really?" There was the faintest hint of suspicion on Draco's voice. "That's a...unique title. I've never heard that one before."  
  
The skinny boy gave a quick, nervous shrug at that, not liking the blonde's wariness one bit. Draco was his only ally in Slytherin, after all! "Oh, well, you know Bulgarians. They have odd names for everything."  
  
"I suppose so," Draco said, but he continued to eye Harry oddly even after they had entered the Dining Hall and began to eat. Yes, the Potter was definitely going to have to be careful around the blonde. After all, having Hermione, Ron, Charlie, and Madam Pomfrey know about his being from an alternate universe was bad enough!  
  
(To be continued...) 


End file.
